Brothers In Arms
by Sisimka
Summary: Companion story to 'Gifts'. The missing Zevran chapters. Zevran travels to Antiva with his brother to investigate the attempted assassination of Alistair. Rated M for violence.
1. Chapter 1

This is a companion piece to my story 'Gifts'. The missing Zevran chapters. Once again thanks to Bioware, I hope I do Zevran justice within this little tale.

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Chapter One

The sun had just crested the rolling forest that separated Vigil's Keep from the Knotwood Hills, but had yet to burn off the mist that shrouded the stonework and ramparts. Zevran leaned forward, noiselessly and cocked his head. There, the smallest scrape and a scuff of leather upon stone. He leapt lightly to the ramparts and ran across the stonework, eyes never leaving the misted figure moving across the ground below. He came to the end of the wall and had to make a snap decision: down the outside or risk taking his eyes from his prey to descend the shadowed staircase? He slipped into shadow and chose the staircase. Zevran stepped soundlessly from the darkness below and put one arm about his quarry's throat, the other at his back, dagger point just barely piercing leather armour.

The man stiffened within his hold and Zevran whispered quietly, "Who goes there?"

"I, I'm just a messenger, ser," the man stuttered, but his armour and weapons gave lie to his words and Zevran prodded a little harder with his dagger.

"I see, and what would your message be, my friend?"

"I, er, um."

Zevran twisted the man around and grabbed the pouch from his belt. He weighed it in his hand. "Had you not been so greedy, you might have got away more soundlessly. You have a month's wages in gold in here. Did you think the Wardens were too busy fighting darkspawn to guard their treasury?"

"But there were no guards!"

"What do you think I am, hm?" The mist had lifted enough for the two men to see one another clearly and though they both felt surprise, only his captive let it cross his face.

"Kelaf. You are fortunate the Warden Commander is in Denerim. I am sure his punishment would be more severe than anything Captain Wyman might mete out." Zevran saw the young man's eyes lift further in surprise and he fought the desire to laugh. Aedan's reputation as a berserker in battle came in very handy when intimidating, no _coercing_, the newer recruits, Zevran had found.

Ah, what an order, these Ferelden Grey Wardens. They took in wanderers, beggars from the streets and now this young rogue from Amaranthine. Zevran had no idea if Kelaf would be allowed to stay, it was not up to him. He merely watched backs and helped with weapons training. Worthy work, to be sure, but hardly exciting until this morning.

He took the rogue by the back of his collar and marched him toward Aedan's office, where he hoped to find Wyman already up and trying to decipher the lists and instructions the commander had left before departing to Denerim the day before.

Wyman stood behind Aedan's desk, just as he'd predicted, and Zevran allowed himself a smile at the look on the Captain's face as he scrutinized the notes left for him.

"Wyman, I have brought you a little something to go with your breakfast."

The warden looked up and his eyebrows rose at the sight of young Kelaf being pushed into the room. He shook his head and sighed.

"Where did you find him this time?"

"Helping himself to the treasury. I do not think he agrees with the stipend offered recruits." Zevran tossed the pouch of gold onto the desk and Wyman picked it up and hefted it, his eyebrows rising nearly to his hairline. He sighed again.

Zevran nodded to Wyman, he knew what went through the warden's mind. This was the third offense, not even Aedan would let the man go with a warning this time.

"Have him escorted to the dungeon where he may await the Commander's leisure."

Zevran nodded and turned to summon a pair of guards to take the young rogue off his hands. He returned to the office and stood before the desk. Wyman looked up. "Was there something else, Zevran, and thank you, by the way, I don't know what we would do without you."

Zevran nodded again at the thanks and spread his hands. "I do not know either, Wyman. Your punishment does not fit the crime. You think three weeks of idleness while this man consumes food and drink equal to the gold on your desk is enough?"

"We need all the recruits we can get, Zevran. Ferelden cannot afford to go executing petty thieves when they might better serve as Wardens." Wyman shrugged. "Either way, it will be for the commander to decide."

"As you wish." Zevran made to excuse himself, a bitter taste upon his tongue. He'd felt this frustration more and more often of late. He knew Aedan worked hard to discipline the recruits, and this order hardly compared with the Crows, these men were trained to fight darkspawn, not kill men. But the excitement of the morning's chase had worn off and Zevran felt curiously flat.

"Zevran, have you any more leads on the smuggling ring operating between the Northern Highway and Amaranthine? Aedan left a note about it." Wyman shuffled the papers on the desk and picked up one, holding it out.

Zevran couldn't help the chuckle that passed his lips. "It seems Aedan would not know what to do without me either. I am a one man crime fighting syndicate, no?"

Wyman smiled. "You are a valued member of the order, Zevran."

He dipped his head to Wyman and slipped from the office, Aedan's note dangling lightly from his fingers.

Aedan had asked only once if Zevran would undergo the Joining, commit himself to the Grey Wardens. Zevran had refused and he did not miss the relief in Aedan's eyes. He knew how it pained the warrior to pass the taint to other men, even for such noble purposes. Usually Zevran enjoyed his role as ancillary officer to the order, he had the freedom to come and go as he pleased. However, it was a double edged sword. Despite the freedom, he did not go. Had he become complacent? Or did simply seek to avoid the inevitable: A confrontation with the Crows.

Of course, there was something, no, _someone_ else that kept him in Amaranthine. Kayley. He and the elven rogue had danced about one another for eighteen months now, neither willing to commit beyond the casual relationship they both enjoyed. Yet he knew neither of them dallied either. Perhaps the way they conducted their affair was for the best, she had her duty to the wardens and he forever reminded her that his involvement with the order would be temporary.

Already the ring of steel sounded from the practice yard outside the windows along the hall. The men trained from early morning until late afternoon. This discipline Zevran enjoyed. Training the men, working with the rogues, passing on his knowledge of assassination techniques and poisons, these facets of his work excited him. A pity all that training went into simply killing darkspawn.

Zevran realised he had stopped and that his eyes gazed at nothing through the open window. What had got into him today? His feet itched and his mind raced. Perhaps it was time to exercise that freedom, seek adventure in the wider world of Thedas instead of tracking down smuggling rings.

Zevran stepped outside and had moved to join the practice when a commotion sounded by the main gates. A courier had arrived and by the lathered state of the horse he rode, the news was urgent, dire, or both. Zevran's pulse quickened and he moved to intercept the guards and escorted the messenger to Wyman himself.

The warden captain took in the state of the courier and exchanged a worried glance with Zevran before taking the satchel of letters. He sorted them on the desk and handed one over while he picked up another one for himself. Zevran opened his, read the contents and then looked up to catch his own expression reflected in Wyman's face.

"I am summoned to Denerim."

The warden shook his head sadly. "An attempt to assassinate Alistair, it is an affront to Ferelden and her wardens. Will you leave at once?"

"I will take one of the horses." The wardens maintained a very small stable of horses for the use of royal couriers. Philippe had urged Aedan to adopt this practice and it had paid for itself in reducing the time it took to travel to and from Denerim in cases such as this. Zevran folded the note and slipped it into his belt as he started walking, already mentally packing his kit. These smugglers would have to wait.

He arrived in Denerim after sunset, stopping at the message post only to leave the horse. He took the courier's mailbag to the palace with him, a grim smile across his face at the thought he had become a messenger. The palace bristled with guards and every lantern had been lit as if to ward off the darkness. A contingent of four guards escorted him to the dining room. Zevran was well used to escorting himself around the palace and tried not to be affronted by the steel cage that walked about him.

The first face he saw upon entering the room happened to be the Empress of Orlais. He experienced a shiver, but considered the connection far too obvious. Celene would not sit at dinner in the house of a man she had just tried to assassinate, would she?

Aedan rose and strode over to grasp his arm. Zevran measured the commander's face a moment and felt a chill creep down his spine. Obviously more had come to pass in the time it had taken him to journey to Denerim. Aedan looked more than tired; he looked worried, haunted and overwhelmed.

They went to Alistair's study.

"Eamon is dead." Aedan's voice was almost flat and emotionless.

"Tell me everything." Zevran stood before him and listened as Aedan related all the news.

"Thank the Maker you are here, Zev, Alistair insists Oghren and I leave for Orzammar tomorrow…" Aedan finished with.

Zevran acknowledged Aedan's last comment with a terse smile and raised a hand to his shoulder. "I am your man, Aedan, you know that. No harm will come to Alistair while you are gone. Now, tell me of this would-be assassin." He spat the word assassin as if it were distasteful to be associated with such.

"He was caught trying to sneak out of the kitchens and taken to Fort Drakon. Zev, he won't talk." Aedan swallowed and drew in a deep breath before he continued. "They…" he stopped speaking, a flush taking his cheeks as he went to the window and gulped in breaths of fresh air.

Zevran had rarely seen Aedan so disturbed. Though he killed quickly, efficiently and well, Aedan had not been trained as an assassin. He was a warrior and the practice of torture obviously troubled him. Zevran stepped forward and laid a hand lightly on his friends arm. He summoned the sympathy he felt for Aedan, Alistair and Eamon and lent it to his voice. "He was paid for silence, then."

Aedan nodded mutely.

Zevran squeezed his arm and said, "Take me to him."

They did not speak as Aedan escorted him to Fort Drakon. In the company of the Warden Commander, Zevran raised no further suspicion and they walked alone to the fort. They descended to the dungeon and he caught sight of the plain little man Aedan had described. He had indeed been tortured to a point that would break most men, even some Crows. His arms and legs lay loosely at his sides and it might be that he would never wield a weapon or run from justice properly again.

Zevran looked up at the face and his breath caught in his chest.

"This man is not your assassin."

Zevran watched the blood drain from Aedan's face and wondered if a similar effect had occurred in his own. He gathered his thoughts and crooked his lips into a small smile. "Let me rephrase that, Juilden was most certainly involved, but he is no bowman, poisons are his specialty." He turned and winked at the man, whose expression and demeanor had yet to change. "Aren't they, my friend?"

On the outside Zevran maintained his façade of cocky self assurance while inside he scoffed at himself. Friend? He had not seen this man in ten years.

"So he is a Crow then?"

Zevran shook his head. "He was, but it was rumoured that he was recruited away by the Brethren." He turned towards Aedan and said quietly, "Might I have a few minutes alone with him?"

Aedan nodded and walked stiffly, but quickly away. Zevran had caught the shiver that took the warrior as he moved. He did not want to witness any more torture. Zevran could not blame him; it was not a practice he necessarily enjoyed himself. A messy and often purposeless business.

He turned his gaze back to the man in the cell and stepped forward. "So, brother, are you as surprised to see me as I am to see you?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Zevran stared at the man in the cell, his brother. He had not seen his brother in ten years, not since Juilden had been recruited away from the Crows. Zevran remembered the flare of jealousy he'd felt toward his older sibling. The Brethren were not a secret organization, they were well known north of Ferelden and the oldest order of assassins in Thedas, founded in Tevinter. The Brethren only recruited the best.

They had not been terribly close as children. Though the brothers had been purchased together, the Crows had not encouraged such relationships. The Crows had not encouraged any relationships beyond the casual dalliance. They had been taught to harden their hearts. But they had always known they were brothers and there had always been an unspoken respect and agreement between them, a deeper level to the friendship they had enjoyed as young men. Though they had the same mother, Juilden's father obviously had not been elven. They shared only the same eyes and a slight build eminently suited to a life in the shadows. It was natural that they had also shared the same profession. But Juilden's lack of distinguishing features, his ability to blend with the crowd had set him apart. What better place to hide than in plain sight?

Zevran opened the cell and stepped inside. He stood before his brother and decided to try the first technique of interrogation he had ever learned, silence. A silence could be an awful void a guilty party could be enticed to fill, even with protestations of innocence. Once they started to talk, they found it hard to stop, and questions could be asked and answers sought.

He didn't expect Juilden to respond to his silence, not really, but it gave him the time he need to further collect his thoughts. One in particular niggled: coincidence. Zevran did not believe in coincidence.

Juilden cleared his throat. "How long has it been, Zevran?" His voice rasped hoarsely and Zevran stepped outside the cell once more to fetch some water. Words came much more easily from a moistened throat.

His brother accepted the water without a word, simply as if it were his due, and drank it down placidly.

"Ten years, Juilden." Zevran said when the cup had been put aside.

Juilden nodded as if considering this fact. Despite the looseness of his limbs, his body appeared otherwise sound, but Zevran sensed the man's spirit was broken. This struck him oddly as he knew it couldn't have been from the torture, Juilden had been this way beforehand and for a while.

Zevran entertained mixed feelings about this assumption. It felt familiar. It reminded him somewhat of the state he'd been in when he'd tried, and failed, to kill Aedan and Alistair. Juilden's mind had not been on this job, or perhaps more accurately, his heart.

"Why did you allow yourself to get caught, Juilden?"

Juilden did not deny the implication of Zevran's question; he merely looked at him with those dull brown eyes and shrugged. "We all get caught sooner or later, do we not? It seems you have risen far, Zevran, you are in the service of the King of Ferelden! Last we heard you had taken an impossible contract and failed. Tell me, how is it you come to serve your mark? Are you a rich man now? You always did have a taste for the finer things."

Zevran pressed his lips together. So they had started another game, each seeking answers of the other and each deflecting with more questions. "I think you forget who is lying broken in the king's dungeon and who is waiting for answers."

"What answers to you seek, Zevran? You know who I am, what I am and why I am here."

True, he did know these things, but he knew as well as Juilden that these were not the answers he sought. "Alright, let us talk of what we know then. There are at least two of you, however I suspect more."

Juilden laughed - a dry, crackling sound. "You are ever the clever one, are you not?"

"We also know that whoever hired you has access to considerable resources, the Brethren are not inexpensive." Zevran continued stating facts in a calm, measured tone. "What is not known is your target, perhaps. Though by all appearances you made a good attempt to kill Alistair, you did not succeed."

A shadow passed over Juilden's eyes and Zevran gained a small sense of satisfaction.

Juilden spoke then, his tone no longer mocking. "Alright Zevran, we can play this game all night, we both know how it goes. But as you can see," he gestured weakly with his hand at his body, "I am not going to be of much use to the Brethren in the future. My career has ended."

Zevran allowed a small smile. "So we come to the bargain portion of the evening, yes? Alright, why don't you make me an offer and I will counter it." He resisted the urge to rub his hands together.

"I know why you took that job, this job, Zevran. I know why you left Antiva and never came back. Perhaps I am here on a similar venture."

This did and did not surprise Zevran. He'd recognised a kindred spirit, something besides their bond of blood. He nodded and gestured for Juilden to continue.

"You are waiting for my offer. Alright, I will give you a name and a number. What will you give me?"

"When the time is right, a painless death, if you wish it."

Juilden raised a brow. "And in the meantime?"

"Return to Antiva with me, brother, I think we both have some ghosts to lay to rest."

For the first time surprise flitted across Juilden's unremarkable face and it animated his features a moment, making him almost appear to have thought and a conscience of sorts. He nodded and gave his answers. "Anora Theirin. Five."

A name and a number. Zevran believed he hid well the shock he felt at both answers. A job of this magnitude would require vast resources indeed. He quickly deduced, but did not share, that Anora was not the true patron behind this contract. An exiled former queen could not afford five Brethren assassins. Who could? A question for another time, another person.

"Get some sleep, brother. We leave for Antiva as soon as I can secure suitable accommodations."

Zevran went to find Aedan. He found the commander in one of the smaller sitting rooms toward the front of the fort and he observed him quietly from the doorway. Aedan sat on a couch with his head lolled back, his eyes closed, his throat exposed. Zevran would never allow himself to sleep like that and he once again marveled at the complete trust Aedan placed in him. He knew the trust was not misplaced, however. They were friends. Good friends. Zevran shook his head in wonderment, as he often did when contemplating how he had made his first true friend.

He walked over and stood in front of Aedan and waited there, wondering how long it would take the warrior to feel his presence. This was a game they had played when he'd tried to teach his friend how to fight with something other than blades. Aedan opened his eyes almost immediately. He looked tired, very tired. "Did he talk?"

Zevran nodded, his expression grim. "We have a problem, Aedan."

Aedan gave a harsh chuckle. "Tell me something I don't know."

Zevran acknowledged the humor with a snicker and sat down opposite Aedan, barely resting on the edge of the chair he'd chosen. "Are you in the mood for a game, my friend? Tell me, who would have the most to gain from Alistair's death?"

Aedan drew his brows together in thought for a moment before his face cleared and he looked Zevran directly in the eye, his voice no more than a whisper. "Anora?"

Zevran smiled. "And yet, you and Alistair continue to insist you are brainless warriors. Yes. Somehow your exiled queen has gathered the resources required to contract five Brethren to carry out this whim of hers."

"Five!" No whisper this time.

Zevran nodded. "Now we play 'What is next'."

"I'll tell you what's next, Zevran, you stay so close to Alistair that you invite gossip."

"You attempt at humour is noted." Zevran smiled warmly at his friend. He considered Aedan a moment, remembered that bond of trust they had forged. "Though I am fairly certain Alistair would not appreciate it. I am going to tell you something I would prefer you kept to yourself, Aedan."

Aedan raised his brows and sense of panic momentarily swept through Zevran. Why did he suddenly feel compelled to confide in someone? His mouth opened and the words tumbled out before he gave himself the chance to think further on them. "Juilden is known to be because he is my brother. No, not of the order, such as you wardens are to one another, but by blood. We share the same mother. Do you remember why I accepted the assignment to come to Ferelden?" He did not say, 'kill you'; one did not use such words with friends.

Aedan nodded and waited silently for him to continue.

"I suspect Juilden is here for similar reasons. It seems Ferelden is a popular destination for those that would run from themselves, no?" Zevran sighed softly, he knew Aedan would not like what he had to say next. "I know you want me to protect Alistair, and normally I would do as you bid Aedan, I am your man," he held up a hand to forestall the usual protest and denial Aedan produced at these words, "Yes, I know you have released me from that oath. But we are friends. I want to go to Tevinter, to get to the bottom of this, for the sake of my brother and because the whole matter does not sit well with me. I suspect this more than a case of simple assassination."

Aedan regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before he answered. "Though it would give me great comfort to know you are at my Brother's side, I respect your wishes, Zevran. I trust you to do what you think best."

They made their way back to the palace then and bid one another goodnight. Zevran would not see Aedan in the morning, both commanders planned an early start on the road to Orzammar. Zevran sought his own quarters, but did not sleep right away, he lay awake and thoughtful. Though clichéd the statement 'be careful what you wish for' had to be one of his favourites. Once again, he had proven it to be true. Was he ready to walk away from his complacency? What would he find in Antiva? Who had broken Juilden and who backed Anora? So many questions and so few answers. This adventure would likely plunge him back into the world of intrigue and politics he had left behind and he willingly admitted his apprehension to himself.

Zevran met with Leliana as soon as he could the next morning. The fair Orlesian bard counted as one of his favourite people. She was another of the very few he counted as a friend and placed some trust in. Some trust, not complete, however. He did not find her as transparent as Aedan, she had many secrets of her own. While at one time he might have considered taking his fellow rogue to bed, he had always known that they were too alike and that it would have simply been an exchange of affection, not the deeper love she shared with her husband. The bard and the warrior were perfectly suited to one another and he did not begrudge them their happiness, he only hoped, deep down and somewhat wistfully that he could allow himself to share that kind of bond with Kayley. But this he could think about another time, Leliana stood before him, her head tilted to one side as she allowed him to muse.

He looked up at her and she smiled. "Done with your thoughts, Zevran?" She held her arms out and he hugged her fondly. She kissed his cheek. "Thank you for coming, you have done much to relieve Aedan's mind."

Zevran acknowledged her words with a simple nod and they walked together to Alistair's study. The king stood before his door surrounded by guards. More guards exited the study and declared the small room free of assassins. Zevran bit his lips over a chuckle at the thought of two clunky and heavily armoured soldiers creeping about the room, checking out all the suspected hiding spots.

The guards dispersed and Leliana made her way to Alistair's side, giving her king a tight hug. She stepped back and patted his arm in an awkward gesture. "I'm so happy to see you well, Alistair."

Zevran stepped forward and Alistair lifted a hand to his shoulder, "It is good to see you Zev, thank you for coming."

Zev waved hand in a dismissive gesture and said, "Of course." He stepped away and gestured the study. "We have much to discuss."

Alistair raised a brow. "Yes, please, come in…"

They entered the study and settled themselves down, Alistair behind the desk, Leliana and Zevran in front and Alistair turned to Leliana and asked, "Aedan and Oghren have left for Orzimmar?"

Leliana nodded and handed him a note. When the king opened it, he uttered a short laugh. He looked up and smiled at her. "For someone who writes such terse reports, he's quite eloquent here…"

Leliana grinned and nodded. "He has his moments."

Alistair and Leliana discussed Eamon's funeral arrangements for a few moments before getting to the matter they were all interested in. Alistair looked up from making some notes and said, "Right, now let's hear the news that has a former Crow looking so disturbed."

Zevran leaned forward in his chair. "There is an organization in Tevinter called the Brethren. They are akin to the Crows only in that they practice the same art: assassination. There the similarity ends. The Brethren recruit from other societies and it is rumoured that they take only the best. Usually, we would not have even known they had been here…" Zevran paused and spread his hands, "Er, except for what they left behind, of course."

He didn't have to mention that what should have been left behind was Alistair's dead body. The king shivered and gestured for Zevran to continue.

Rather than let Alistair know Juilden had obviously been an easy catch, he decided to both comfort and compliment. "The loyalty of your staff, your guards, and Oghren's diligence in training your men…these are what you have to thank for catching even one of these assassins."

Alistair's brow quirked and he repeated in a hushed tone, "One?"

Zevran nodded. "There were five of them."

Alistair looked sick and not because he still recovered from two arrows to the chest. More likely he contemplated four more possible attempts upon his life. He put his hands flat to the desk and leaned upon them for a moment, catching his breath before whispering, "Holy Maker…how did you find this out, Zev? Last I heard the assassin was not talking."

"My methods…" Zevran waved a hand and dismissed the question, "…they are not important. What is important, however, is who contracted them, the answer to which I think adequately satisfies why."

Leliana sat forward in her chair then and Alistair's back straightened as he pushed back off the desk and sat up.

"Anora."

Leliana gasped, her hand covering her mouth and Alistair rocked back so far in his chair he might have fallen. "Holy Maker!"

Zevran filled the stunned silence with his plan. "I will sail for Tevinter with the tide, Alistair. I will be taking my 'friend' Juilden with me. Do you want it known that I am investigating on your behalf…or not?" He asked this last delicately.

Alistair had considered a moment before responding just as Aedan had "Do as you see fit, Zevran."

These men placed so much trust in him and his abilities. It amused and humbled him at the same time. He did not know what he might find in Antiva, but he hoped it would not lead him to betray that trust and the friendships he had come to treasure.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Zevran leaned out over the railing of the ship and watched Ferelden dip over the horizon. A bittersweet feeling washed over him. In the last three years Ferelden had become a home. He could not deny the excitement he felt at what lay over the opposite horizon though. It seems as if he could already smell Antiva city, the cooking, the warm eddies of air stirring up the dust from the cobbled streets, and the leather. He chuckled as he thought about the leather. Aedan had never quite understood where he came from on that one.

His back tensed and he looked over his shoulder. Juilden stood there leaning against the door that led below the deck. He walked well enough within the confined space of the ship, but Zevran planned to have him running by the time they reached Antiva. He entertained no doubt about the slender window of opportunity he might have to disembark the ship and find the shadows before the Crows began to circle.

"Come, Juilden, let us see if we can exercise some strength back into those limbs of yours."

Juilden grunted but pushed himself away from the door and Zevran led him through a series of stretches before accompanying his brother on a walking tour of the long deck. They met no one but crew who acknowledged them politely enough, but carried on with their tasks. This was a merchant ship and Zevran and his brother were the only two passengers aboard. The captain had not been too happy about taking two assassins to Antiva with his cargo of trade goods, but a letter from the King of Ferelden accompanied by a generous pouch of gold has served to change his mind, if not purchase his good will. Zevran and Juilden had been invited to dine with the captain that night and every night they would be on board, a luxury the elf looked forward to. He'd hardly had time to eat at all in Denerim and the cook at Vigil's Keep, while efficient, was somewhat uninspired.

Zevran's thoughts drifted to the delicacies he would sample once he reached Antiva City and Juilden actually managed to surprise him, a sharp jab between the shoulder blades.

"Zevran? Can we take a break?" Juilden's pale face glistened with sweat and Zevran gestured for him to sit. He sat beside his brother and berated himself for having lost awareness of his surroundings. This introspection and… daydreaming! Had he lost his edge? He sought a focus, his eyes landed on Juilden.

"So, Juilden, care to tell me why you came to Ferelden?"

Juilden raised a brow. "I think we have already had this discussion."

Zevran waved a hand in the air. "The official version, yes, but I think there is something more to this."

"Always the thinker, aren't you, Zev?"

"That is how we were trained, or have you forgotten? Perhaps the Brethren do things differently?" Zevran raised a brow in question, inviting answer, but not really expecting one.

"You think me so broken I would willingly spill Brethren secrets?" A shadow crossed Juilden's features, one not unnoticed by Zevran.

"So something has broken you, brother. I will listen if you…" Zevran hesitated. Since when did he listen to people? Another habit he had developed in Ferelden, all this talking and sharing and listening. Just as bad as the introspection and daydreaming. The closer they drew to Antiva the more Zevran felt his foreignness, as if he approached somewhere other than the country of his birth. He waved his hand through the air again before continuing. "Come, we've not the time to gossip like fishwives. Up, stand up. Let us test your stamina again."

Juilden studied him seriously for a moment. "You have changed, Zevran. You are softer. I hope it is not your undoing."

Zevran scowled at his brother and gestured him to his feet. "Let me show you how soft I am."

He drew his weapons and invited Juilden to do the same. They circled one another for just a moment before Juilden attacked with both blades, the longer sweeping toward Zevran's neck, the shorter jabbing for his chest. Zevran deflected both blades with a downward cross of his own and they stepped back to assess one another again.

"Oi! There will be none o' that aboard my vessel!"

Both assassin's straightened and regarded the captain who shrank back before their raised blades and piercing glares. The captain spread his hands and asked more quietly, "Please?"

"We simply spar for practice, Captain, no harm intended. Perhaps you have somewhere you would prefer us to do this?"

A surly youth was summoned to show them to an empty hold and he stood outside the door day after day, his mouth open and his eyes wide as the brothers continued with their practice.

And so the journey continued with Zevran limbering and drilling his brother, physically and mentally. He learned nothing concrete and only convinced himself further that Juilden hid something from him. A secret he guarded carefully. Finally the day dawned when the ship rounded the point of Salle and entered Rialto Bay. Zevran could not deny the mixture of apprehension and excitement that stirred him from within. Even the air smelled different.

Evening had stolen across the sky by the time the ship sailed into the harbor and the ropes were tied off. Zevran had spent the better part of the day leaning over the railing contemplating the horizon once more as Antiva City grew closer, spreading before him until it filled his eyes. So large a city! As the sun set the city glowed with thousands of lights and he could hear music spilling out across the water from the dockside inns and taverns. The first scent of Antivan cooking, a fish stew he thought, reached his nose just as they finished securing the vessel and his stomach rumbled.

He turned to find Juilden standing nonchalantly behind him. His brother had only been absent from his home for perhaps two weeks. He had discovered during their limited conversations that Juilden had worked mostly within Antiva, though the Brethren were based in Tevinter, because he naturally spoke the language and knew the customs. Zevran had wondered over this information at the time. Could it be possible that members of the Brethren, similarly recruited, stalked other cities of Thedas? Val Royeaux or Denerim even? The thought sent a shiver down Zevran's spine and that in itself was quite an accomplishment.

He had been gone from Antiva City for three years, not a mere two weeks and these first sights and smells washed his apprehension away as he became caught up in the excitement of seeing his homeland once again. But excitement did not exclude caution and the two assassins were barely noticed as they slipped from the ship, hugging the convenient nighttime shadows of the harbor until they reached the dockside streets.

Zevran had two choices for accommodations. He could choose an obscure inn and hope to pass unnoticed or he could brazenly announce his presence by visiting an establishment where he was known.

"What is your suggestion, Juilden? Do you think the Crows are circling yet? Shall we invite them or avoid them?"

Juilden scoffed lightly. "You're asking me? What is it you think I know, brother?"

Zevran studied Juilden's plain face a moment before making his decision. An invitation suited his mood. Better to draw the Crows from the shadows than spend his time lurking there himself.

"Let us visit Cristina's then!" His lips curved in memory of not only the establishment, but the patron, Cristina herself. The inn had come to mind as it fronted the harbor, not four blocks from where they currently stood. As they wove down the street the brothers both hugged the shadows, stepping away from pools of light formed by lampposts and avoiding doors and windows. Old habits die hard, and yet they did not stand out for this fact. Almost everyone seemed to move the same way. A city of assassins perhaps, or simply a city where everyone minded their own business.

They reached the tavern and Zevran hesitated on the doorstep just a moment before stepping through the doors. The dining room hosted a good dinner crowd and the smell of seafood, rice and wine hung thickly in the air. Zevran closed his eyes and inhaled only to feel the sting of a sharp slap across his cheek. He opened his eyes.

A diminutive woman stood before him, golden skinned and golden haired with deep brown eyes. Her hands rested at her hips and her brows were drawn down in fury. "Zevran Arainai! Three years! Three years without a word and you step through this door as if it were yesterday. You, my friend, can find yourself a meal elsewhere!"

"Cristina! I told you my last name?"

Juilden guffawed behind him and clapped him on the shoulder as he pushed past and caught the attention of a passing servant girl. "I think perhaps I'll get myself a meal while you two get reacquainted."

"Everybody knows your name, Zevran. They have sent more Crows after you than have been recruited in a single year. You are a wanted man."

Juilden stopped in his tracks, his back stiffening and Zevran glanced from his brother to Cristina and back. "Only Tailesin caught up with me, and he failed."

"More's the pity," Cristina murmured and Juilden continued toward a table.

Zevran cocked his head. "Ah, Cristina, my sweet, are you not happy to see me, not even a little bit?" He kept his tone light, but his mind whirled. They had sent how many crows after him? The way Juilden's back had stiffened, he knew something. Perhaps this had something to do with the secret his brother held so tightly.

Cristina softened instantly and stepped toward him, her fingers rising to stroke the mark she had left on his cheek. "Zevran, I thought you were dead!"

He laid his fingers over hers. "You worried for me? I am touched."

"Worried, no, Zevran, I never worry for you, you can do that for yourself. I missed you though." She smiled a smile he remembered well and Zevran took a deep breath. Ah, it was good to be home! Familiar faces, familiar places!

"Well I am here now, you may miss me no longer! Now, can I join my friend for a meal or would you like to exchange some more slaps first?" He raised a single brow at her and Cristina laughed and drew her hand from his cheek.

Zevran felt he may have died and joined the Maker as he sopped the last juices from his plate with fresh crusty bread. Surely Cristina's had never been known to serve such wonderful food? Zevran stretched his arms behind him. He felt languid, relaxed and sated. A flicker caught his eye and adrenaline surged. He elbowed Juilden gently and his brother said around a mouthful of bread, "Only just noticed have you? And here we thought my loosened limbs were all we had to worry about."

Zevran sighed and shook his shoulders as if willing this crippling complacency to fall from them like a discarded cloak. He spoke to Juilden, his lips barely moving, his eyes studying the rim of gravy around his plate. "Why are they still after me Juilden? What are you not telling me?"

"I am no longer a Crow, Zevran. Just what do you think I might know about your petty organization?"

Zevran growled in frustration. His meal had been spoiled by both the lurking shadows and the stubbornness of the man he sat next to. "Why do you think I brought you back here, _brother_? Out of the kindness of my heart? If you expect me to keep you alive until our bargain is done, you are going to have to start answering some of my questions."

"We are both dead men, Zev, it's only a matter of time." Juilden looked up and nodded toward the door.

A shadow fell over the room, blanketing both light and sound as the customers fell silent, one by one. The Crows had come calling. Zevran leapt to his feet and sprang lightly to the table top. From there he ran toward the wall and launched himself, his feet scraping lightly against the window sill, and then the sheer stone of the wall as he sought height and leverage, propelling himself toward the balcony that overhung the dining room. His hands grasped at the wooden railing, found purchase and he used his momentum to swing himself up and over. He dropped lightly to the floor on the other side and heard a grunt and a scrape behind him. He held out an arm and Juilden grabbed onto it gratefully and heaved himself over the same rail.

They turned and ran together toward the end of the hallway and threw themselves through the open window at the end. Zevran sent a silent prayer to the Maker that Cristina had not changed her habits since he'd been gone. This particular window was why he'd chosen this establishment as his favourite all those years ago. Cristina had merely been a pleasant bonus. The window overlooked the roofline of the building next door and had been used countless times as an alternative exit by him, and no doubt many others.

Zevran vaulted to the roofline and heard a soft 'oof' behind him as Juilden landed. They danced along the slate tiles, nearly soundlessly but for an occasional scrape and panted breath. Zevran angled upward toward a chimney and down the other side of the roof, dropping to a balcony, jumping to the railing and flinging himself across an alleyway to a neighbouring balcony without stopping for breath. His feet knew this course, he'd traveled it dozens of times. The familiarity of the actions, the chase, gave wind to his lungs and he threw himself up to the next gutter, swinging himself over, gaining his hands and knees, then feet and he ran once again. Juilden stayed close and required little help.

As they crested the next roofline, Zevran skidded to a halt. Three men waiting on the other side and all had their weapons drawn. Zevran glanced to either side at the adjacent roofs and saw one bowman on each. He knew without looking there would be more men down in the alleyway below and certainly more crept up behind him. A trap.

He drew his blades and set his feet lightly apart and heard Juilden doing the same behind him. His back itched, he hated having an unknown quantity at his back. Could he trust his brother? Deep down he knew he could not, but at the moment it seemed he had little other choice. He ducked instinctively as an arrow whistled over his shoulder and used the move to drive forward at his first opponent, taking the man on the far left, hoping Juilden would take his cue. Juilden appeared behind the same target and they flanked, ignoring or deflecting as best as they could strikes and blows from the other two men.

Laughter flew from his lips as Zevran countered and struck, throwing first one opponent and then the second from the roof. Finally, a fight against men who fought back, not these untrained darkspawn and bandits he'd had to contend with! Every time an arrow flew past he turned and caught it with a blade or backed his opponent into it. Every time a blade swung he jumped or ducked or parried with precision. He felt his skill rising to meet the challenge and he taunted his third opponent, laughing and insulting him as he and Juilden bested the man and another body tumbled to the ground below.

He ducked behind the chimney just as another two arrows crossed over the roof, one from each direction and he nodded toward his brother. "I'll take this one," he inclined his head to the right. "See you on the ground."

Juilden nodded and melted away before his eyes and Zevran turned and ran directly across the roof into the path of the arrows, startling the archer as he leapt the gap between the gutters and swept his blades before him, slicing open the elf's abdomen before he had time to reach for anything other than another arrow. The bow clattered to the slate tiles and the body slumped and rolled, joining the pile below.

Zevran followed the archer down, dropping to the gutter and clutching it with his hands before dropping again to the ground below. He stepped around the corner and froze. Though he kept his blades pointed before him and his stance at the ready, he knew he would not win this fight and that he would be lucky if he made it away without a back full of arrows.

"And people wonder why it is called a murder of crows." He whispered to himself.

He lowered his blades and straightened his back. His eyes roamed over the fifteen elves and men assembled within the shadows until they came to rest upon a familiar face. "Sebastian."

The slender, dark-skinned elf stepped forward and nodded toward him. "Welcome home Zevran."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Zevran studied the fifteen Crows assembled before him. Many of the faces were similar, mostly elven. He knew only a couple by sight, none as well as Sebastian. He glanced from side to side, as though tallying the odds, when actually his eyes searched for any gap he might exploit, a weakness, any hint of Juilden. His brother had vanished into the shadows and though Zevran held a small hope this meant he prepared a distraction, realistically he knew he had probably seen the last of Juilden. One question remained: had Juilden led him into this, or had he seen ahead and fled?

Sebastian flicked his head and two subordinate members of the group stepped forward, slowly, warily, to relieve Zevran of his weapons. Though it crossed his mind that these two might be his first victims in a daring escape, Zevran held his hands up, weapons hanging downward, and let them take his blades. He felt a particular pang as they took the dagger; it had been a gift from Aedan, one made to him at Ostagar. It was Duncan's dagger. Zevran had never met Duncan, but just the look on both Aedan and Alistair's faces at the mention of the deceased warden's name was enough to make him cherish the blade.

They did not bind his hands or make any other effort to restrain him. He knew the rules and he knew the odds and Sebastian seemed confident of the fact Zevran would abide by them. For now, he would. As they walked through the streets, people shrank away from them, slipping into shadows and crossing the cobbles to the other side. Doors closed and windows clacked shut. The alleyways narrowed and became dark and the sounds of music and voices faded as they left the waterfront quarter. Zevran caught the familiar tang of leather as they skirted a tannery and he smiled in memory. One of his escort sneered at him, but Zevran kept the smile. If it unnerved even one of these Crows, it would be worth it.

He glanced about as he walked, his eyes ever alert for a sign of or a signal from Juilden. Though he did not really expect it, his spirit grew heavier as he saw none. His brother had abandoned him then.

None of the Crows spoke to him and the procession continued in silence as the streets widened once more and they reached one of well known guild establishments. Fifteen men were not going to pass unnoticed into one of the more secret enclaves. The building they approached had a three story façade of stone laced with delicate iron railings at each window. Though they looked like balconies, the somewhat high and restrictive railings represented security rather than decoration. Zevran had been here before for both business and pleasure. The opulence of the manse found rivaled those it adjoined. This quarter of the city housed many of the wealthier merchants and guilds. The cellars beneath this particular building were almost as vast as the structure above ground and underground tunnel and aqueducts led to every corner of the city.

Sebastian retrieved Zevran's weapons, dismissed the rest of the escort with a curt wave of his hand and gestured Zevran to precede him into a downstairs parlor. Zevran raised his brows in surprise. "I am to be treated as a visitor then?"

Sebastian regarded him coolly. "For the moment."

"You have risen high since last I saw you, Sebastian. Life treats you well!" Zevran kept his tone light and jovial.

Sebastian laughed, not a merry sound. "The hunt for you has thinned the ranks, Zevran. There are many opportunities now for us young up-and-comers!"

Zevran frowned. Why had so many assassins been sent after him and where on earth had they all disappeared to? A new voice spoke from the doorway. "It is most unusual for a failed assassin to garner such attention, but it is not mine to ask, I merely set the price."

Zevran whirled. A slender elf stood in the doorway. Rumor had it that none other stood between this man and the guild master himself. Zevran offered a short bow. "I am honoured, Remehe."

"So you should be. Now, I know you are not a stupid man, Zevran, why are you in Antiva?"

Zevran raised a brow. "Straight to business is it? We do not exchange pleasantries first? I am well, Remehe, thank you for asking. Yes, I passed the journey here pleasantly enough though my company was not as stimulating as I could have hoped for."

Sebastian took a step back, the look of consternation on his face relaxing only when Remehe burst in to laughter. "Ah, Zevran, you have not lost your wit I see!"

Fighting the urge to let out a held breath, Zevran smiled in return and held out his hands, palm up, in a gesture that might be interpreted as 'I try.'

Amusement left Remehe's features as soon as it had appeared, however, and his face darkened somewhat as he stepped into the room and stood before Zevran. "So did any of our assassins actually find you, Zevran, are you really that talented?"

"I am here, am I not?" Zevran cocked his head and invited appraisal.

Remehe narrowed his eyes a moment. "We sent Taliesin after you first, he begged to go. He never returned."

"Nor will he."

Remehe nodded and his face showed no surprise. A crow that did not return was assumed dead or missing. "And now you serve this King in Ferelden? A most unusual position for a man of your obvious talents and tastes."

Zevran merely chuckled in response. He did not care who the Crows thought he worked for and the thought of Alistair with his own private assassin amused him. A silence stretched between them and despite himself, Zevran felt compelled to fill it.

"I don't suppose you care to share the reason so many… resources… have been expended searching for me?

"Somebody, other than the Crows of course, wants you dead. I'd have thought that was obvious."

Somebody with a lot of gold, thought Zevran. Suddenly a chill descended his spine. Somebody with a lot of gold? Zevran did not believe in coincidence – somebody with a lot of gold obviously backed Anora's efforts to have Alistair eliminated. Could this 'somebody' be interested in his death too?

"I see you have made a connection, Zevran. Care to share your thoughts with us?"

"And deny you the pleasure of the game? I think not." Zevran forced a smile. "So, is our friendly chat done? May I be on my way?"

Remehe laughed again and clapped Zevran on the shoulder. "You wish to leave so soon? We haven't even shown you our accommodations yet, my friend. Come!" The hand upon his shoulder tightened, the fingers gripping through his leather armour like steel pincers and Zevran obligingly turned toward the door. He walked first, as before, with Remehe and Sebastian behind him. He would not be allowed to step behind them, rogues never liked another at their back.

Instead of directing him upstairs, however, they indicated a large wooden door that lead directly to the aqueducts. His 'accommodations' would be in the dungeons then, Zevran felt no surprise at that. What he did wonder was why they hadn't simply killed him yet. He did not expend too much energy musing upon this however, as every minute he lived gained him another chance to gain information and seek escape.

The aqueducts were well lit with lanterns evenly spaced along the curved walls. Brackish water glinted in the middle, bordered by stone and tiled paths on either side. Their footsteps echoed and every now and then Zevran heard a skittering sound that reminded him of the spiders in the Deep Roads. Instinctively he reached for his weapons and experienced again the pang of loss when he remembered they were not there. Both his blades dangled from Sebastian's hands.

A loud boom disturbed the quiet and a shock wave from the explosion buffeted the three elves, nearly throwing them from their feet. Zevran felt the pressure on his eardrums and winced, clapping his hands over the sides of his head protectively. He closed his eyes and dropped to his knees. A searing heat blasted over his bowed head, he could feel his hair standing on end and heard a grunt and thud behind him. A tinny clatter had Zevran whirling on his knees and reaching for the weapons Sebastian had dropped as he'd been flung backwards.

Remehe stepped on his wrist. He had one hand braced against the wall and the other covering his mouth and his eyes were closed, but his boot unerringly found Zevran's arm and stopped him mid grab. "Don't," he called hoarsely through the billowing inferno that raged about them. Zevran rolled forward into the leg that pinned his wrist and knocked Remehe off balance. He grabbed for both his blades, his hands closing around the familiar hilts with relief, and continued forward, over the lip of the path and into the water. If he could have sighed in relief at the coolness of the water after the inferno, he would have. Instead he concentrated on swimming, blindly, through the canal for as long as he could without breath.

When he surfaced the air was blessedly clear of fire and Zevran drew in a deep and refreshing breath. He glanced about himself. He had swum downstream, away from the Crows and toward whatever, whomever, threw spells. Lightning danced across the water in front of him and Zevran kicked backwards, colliding with the wall behind him. He turned and scrambled up and out of the water.

The explosion had caused more Crows to spill into the tunnel system and many men advanced with weapons at the ready, but they were not looking to him, their eyes were focused instead on the direction of the spells. Zevran looked that way and gasped. A veritable army of men melted from the shadows, some of them from the water, some appearing from crevices in the roof and walls. A shudder took Zevran's shoulders as he noticed none of these men had any distinguishing characteristics. Compared to the approaching Crows they were mostly plain, and quite unremarkable. They were Brethren. Holy Maker! Had he somehow become embroiled in a guild war? If so, which side would he choose?

The front lines of the two groups met with a clash of steel, but it became obvious early on that the Brethren had the advantage. Despite the Crows' skill with weapons, they could not fight the barrage of hexes and spells that peppered the battle. Zevran stood on the opposite side of the canal and he took advantage of his brief reprieve to slip into the shadow behind him. He hugged the wall as he sprinted along the walkway, heading away from the battle, behind the Brethren.

A man stepped from the shadow as he rounded a corner and Zevran stopped short. "Juilden?"

"I see you are taking advantage of our diversion, brother."

Zevran blinked in surprise. "Diversion? You came for me?" Zevran did not often experience confusion, he could probably count the times on one hand. This situation would be added to his meager collection. He found he wanted to believe his brother had come after him, that Juilden had felt a bond of kinship. But his mind screamed at him that he was a fool and that he should walk away from this man now, walk away and never look back.

"Come, we do not have much time." Juilden turned his back on him, a gesture of trust and Zevran drew in a quick breath. He followed. He would reassess the situation once they had left the tunnels. Juilden sprinted ahead of him and Zevran kicked up his heels, following. The sounds of the battle behind them covered any sound they might make and both men ran hard and fast until the noise faded, then they began to exercise caution.

Juilden disappeared into a shadowed opening in the wall and Zevran followed. A door hung open and they ran lightly up the stairs. Juilden opened the door at the top and Zevran could see it led into a building. He hesitated. He did not know where he was. He'd lost track of the distance they might have traveled beneath the city. Juilden's face reappeared around the edge of the doorway and he hissed down at Zevran.

"What are you waiting for?"

"What is this place, where are we?" Zevran edged up the stairway and flattened himself against the wall before the door. He still held his blades and he raised them.

"Zevran! We do not have much time, as soon as they finish with your Crows, they will return this way!" Juilden's voice hissed with urgency and Zevran reacted to the plea. He stepped through the doorway. Something hit him on the side of the head and the world faded away in a shower of sparks and blackness.

When Zevran opened his eyes again he immediately regretted it. His vision swam and his head pounded. He could feel bile rising in the back of his throat. He rested on a low couch and he rolled to his side, steadying himself with his hands and waiting for the dizziness to subside before pushing himself to a sitting position. He blinked and looked around the room. A plain room, the walls unadorned the curtains drab and the rug a mushroom brown colour. The only furnishings included the couch he sat on and two chairs facing it behind a low table. The door opened and a woman stepped through.

She walked silently toward one of the chairs and sat down in it without looking at Zevran once. Once she had seated herself and arranged her skirts she glanced up as if just noticing he sat there. Zevran's eyes widened appreciatively. He might feel like he'd knocked heads with an archdemon, but he always had time for a pretty face. The woman before him had skin the same burnished gold colour as Cristina and the same gloriously coloured hair, but there the similarities ended. This face consisted of finely sculptured angles, high cheek bones and a high forehead, a slender and curved jaw. But her most distinguishing feature was definitely her eyes, they were the colour of honey and they seemed to glow from within. The more he looked the more attractive he found her and the casual way in which she held her head indicated she knew her effect on him. She smiled.

Zevran felt his lips twitch in a return smile and he cleared his throat softly. "Good evening, my lady."

She laughed. "So the rumours are true, you are quite charming. Welcome to my home, Zevran."

Zevran frowned and glanced about himself, reconfirming the details of the room. "Might I know the name of my lovely hostess?"

"You may call me Cerin."

Zevran swallowed against his rising stomach once more and his head began to spin lazily. He steadied himself, placing a hand to each side of his legs on the couch and blinked to clear his vision. Not a coincidence, no, not this time. Everyone in Antiva knew the name Cerin. The leader of the Brethren was a woman?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"The leader of the Brethren is a woman?" Did he just say that out loud?

Cerin tossed back her head and laughed. The sound chilled Zevran. Though quite obviously struck with mirth, Cerin's laugh did not sound completely sincere, more something she produced for effect.

"Oh, Zevran, you are more than charming, you are amusing too!"

Zevran felt off balance. Though her features were Antivan, Cerin did not speak with the same accent. Tevinter coloured her words and phrasing. Yet, she seemed well established in a country that frowned upon women who bore arms. He wondered how many people knew the most famed assassin in perhaps all of Thedas was a woman.

Zevran quickly recovered his sensibilities and attempted to rise, leaning forward from the couch, and tendered a half bow. "It is a pleasure then to make your acquaintance, Cerin. To what do I owe the honour of an audience with the fabled leader of the Brethren?"

Cerin pouted now. "Come, Zevran, you would show you are charming and amusing, but not also intelligent?"

Zevran chuckled in return. The sound effectively hid his sigh. When had be actually become tired of playing these games? Perhaps as he realised he'd been in Antiva for less than a day – a glance at the window confirmed night still owned the sky – and he'd already been captured by two rival guilds. Oh yes, Ferelden had definitely made him soft. Juilden had the right of it there. Juilden, where was his brother now? Planning yet another daring rescue, waiting for more distraction or quietly patting himself on the back for a job well done?

"Let us pretend I am playing your game, Cerin, and that you are the superior opponent."

Cerin narrowed her eyes at his and pursed her lips. "Alright, I find that amusing. You are here because I had you summoned."

"Ah, the deflection, nicely done! Let me guess, you are here… because you had me summoned!" Zevran winked carefully at her, wondering how far he could push someone of such legendary status.

Cerin clapped her hands. "Oh, a point to you, Zevran! Would you care to play again?"

Zevran spread his hands. "I am at your whim it seems. Let me see, you have always wanted to meet the fabled Zevran Arainai and here I am."

Cerin raised a brow. "Partly true, my dear. I am quite tickled at meeting you, yes! But I could have done so at any time, and at much less expense. No, I will admit, and this will cost me a point, that you are not here solely on my whim."

Zevran tilted his head and studied those honey coloured eyes intensely. She did not flinch but coolly met his gaze. She hadn't told him anything he couldn't have figured out for himself, they both knew that. He decided to try a new tactic.

"Well you have certainly saved a lot of time and effort on my part, and I would thank you for it." He swept her a bow.

Cerin chuckled, not an amused sound, and this time none of her humour reached her eyes. "Are we at the part where you tell me why you have returned to Antiva, Zevran?"

"Ah, a clever move, and now _you_ ask a question you already know the answer to!"

She conceded his point with a wave of her hand and Zevran noticed that a change had come over her manner. She seemed less humored now, more business-like.

"It would have been better hand you not come, Zevran. It is true, I find you wonderfully charming and amusing. Even intelligent perhaps. It is a shame you are too pretty to recruit or I might have made you one of my own."

Zevran raised his brows at this and considered her words. She sounded almost wistful. But as he watched her, any regret he might have glimpsed washed from her face and she smiled once more.

"But gold is gold and now this contract is at an end."

"Tsk, is our game over already, Cerin? And I had just begun to enjoy myself."

Cerin chuckled before lifting her chin in a quick gesture and Zevran heard the door opening behind him. Rather than turn his head he waited for the visitor to round the couch and stand beside her chair. A brethren, plain and simple, looked impassively at him while listening to Cerin's instructions.

"Take him to the dungeon. The client will be here to collect him this afternoon."

The assassin escorted him from the room and Zevran noted with pride that four more waited in the hallway. It amused him to think his reputation caused such an honor guard, that even without his weapons they considered him dangerous. The five men closed about him and they walked to the end of the hallway to the ubiquitous heavy wooden door, another entrance to the catacombs and aqueducts that snaked beneath Antiva City.

They descended one flight of stairs and turned into a dungeon. Zevran could feel the weight of the building pressing above him. The ceiling was low, the air dank and no natural light reached this far below the ground. Crude torches flickered against the stone wall, each one set between doors made of iron grillwork. Zevran did not feel surprise or the need to remark upon the fact that most of the cells were occupied, the Crows' dungeon had always been similarly filled. They thrust him through the last door and the grill clanged shut. This cell already contained one occupant and as Zevran's eyes grew accustomed to the dim light his shoulders slumped in sadness.

Juilden looked up and shook his head wearily. His voice rasped hoarsely. "Brother, I am sorry. I had to do it. Now that I am truly dead, I will tell you everything.

Juilden's voice had deepened and the mask had slipped. Naked pain was evident in his eyes, his face and his manner. Zevran could feel it as though it were his own. He crouched next to his brother and laid a hand on the slumped shoulder. "I am listening."

"I made a mistake, Zevran." Juilden dropped his gaze to the dirty stone floor. "I accused you of being soft." His shoulders shrugged a little. "But I spoke only of myself."

"We all have our weaknesses, Juilden. Tell me what happened."

"I heard something and I intervened. I killed without a contract and caused a war."

Zevran raised his brows. A war between the Crows and the Brethren. Quite an accomplishment that. "How? Juilden, what have you done?"

"I saved your life, brother. That is what I have done. I diverted the path of Crows and even killed fellow assassins."

"You did what? Juilden, not that I am not grateful for your intervention, but why would you do this?" Stunned didn't even begin to describe Zevran's reaction to this news. They had not been trained this way, love and loyalty to anything but themselves had literally been beaten out of them from a young age onwards. What had changed Juilden so drastically?

"We were always taught that family did not matter, eh? I believed it for a time, I hardened my heart, we all did. But it is stone no longer, and now that I am done, I find that I do not regret it. Even to have been happy for such a small time was worth all of it."

Zevran felt a chill and he dropped his hand from Juilden's shoulder. He suddenly understood. "Ah, Juilden, you met someone, you fell in love, am I correct?"

Juilden hesitated and his voice dropped to a whisper, "I have a wife and a child."

Zevran stilled in shock. An assassin with a wife and child? Juilden laughed harshly and raised his voice. "Why am I whispering, brother? If it were a secret I wouldn't be here and neither would you."

"They live still, your wife, your child?" Zevran held his breath as he waited for the answer.

"I do not know, I am told they do. If there is even the slightest chance they are, well, I do not expect you to understand, Zevran, but I would do anything…"

Zevran interrupted. "I understand." And he did. He only had to call to mind Aedan and the man's love for his wife and his two children, even though one of his sons did not share his blood. Zevran knew that Aedan would walk to the end of Thedas itself, and then into the ocean if necessary, for his family. Sometimes he envied it, but mostly he did not. Perhaps that was the reason he distanced himself from Kayley. He squeezed Juilden's shoulder gently and repeated himself. "Juilden, I understand. But tell me, why am I here? This is not about Alistair Theirin, is it?"

"No, Zevran, it is not. Oh, the contract is real and this Anora Mac Tir did put her name to it, but as I am sure you have guessed, an exiled queen does not have that much gold at her disposal. No, another pulls her strings. Someone who went through a lot of Crows to find you and now for the sake of my wife and child I have betrayed my brother and delivered you to his hands."

Juilden's shoulders shook then and Zevran was not surprised when his brother began to cry. The gentle sobs came from a truly broken man. He found himself tempted to offer comfort and fought the urge for a time before he gave into it and hugged Juilden. It was a different experience entirely to initiate a hug, he discovered. Aedan and Leliana were always hugging him. He often wondered how Aedan managed to kill anything it all he acted with such affection toward his friends and companions. Even the King of Ferelden himself had clasped Zevran in fondness a time or two. But this felt different, this time Zevran actually sought to offer comfort, and to a brother. He felt something moist on his cheek and told himself it must have dropped from the ceiling, these dungeons were quite damp, after all.

When Juilden stopped shaking, Zevran hastily dropped his arms and sat back, resting his buttocks on the ground and massaging his sore calves. He had crouched before his brother for too long. He gave Juilden some time to collect himself before asking his next question.

"Who is after me, Juilden?"

Juilden shook his head sadly. "Zevran, I do not know. I was sent to Ferelden to lure you back to Antiva. Now that my part is done, I am dead. Perhaps my family is too. I am truly sorry."

Zevran growled softly beneath his breath. "You still draw breath Juilden, as do I. This game is not over yet."

Juilden lifted his hands and gestured the stone walls about them.

Zevran began picking at the leather of his armor. The skirt had been reinforced with metal plates here and there, and some were oddly shaped. To most they would appear decorative, which suited Zevran, he not only liked the pattern and the distinction of it, but knew that his preference for having such a pattern would render it almost invisible. The pattern repeated around the skirt, but two of the pieces were made of a different sort of metal, they were not merely decorative. They were in fact thieves' tools and as he unpicked them one by one, Juilden's eyes widened slightly and he uttered a weak laugh.

"So you are the clever one after all, Zevran, and not merely a vain fool."

Zevran raised a brow. "I am glad I amuse you so. Unfortunately, my cleverness will only get us so far. Yes, I have the tools, but alas…" he shrugged, remembering Leliana's laughter the first time he had attempted to pick a lock in front of her. "I am not skilled with them." He gestured the lock welded into the iron grate at the front of the cell. "Even such a crude device is beyond me. In time, I may succeed, if I do not break the tools first."

He finished picking at the stitches and pulled at the rivets that held the bottoms of the two tools in place, succeeded in ripping them out without damaging the leather too badly and held them out to Juilden with a smile. "But as I remember, brother, your fingers are quite nimble!"

Juilden took the tools and studied them a minute. The small smile had faded from his mouth and his face tensed. He looked up. "You would take me with you? Even after what I have done?"

"Maybe I need your help to find Anora and whoever is backing her. When we are done, perhaps I will give you that painless death after all."

Juilden stared at him and Zevran felt something like a flush steal over his cheeks and he looked away and swallowed. Soft, he was soft. After all those trials and years of being a trained killer, his time in Ferelden had changed him. He should have died on that stretch of highway, but instead two hapless wardens had given him another chance, and another purpose. He had friends, good friends, and now he had a brother, a real brother.

He gestured the lock. "Why don't you demonstrate your skills for me, hm?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Juilden had no problem with the lock. He looked at Zevran, an appraising glance, and then pocketed the tools. Zevran shrugged lightly and nodded. Both rogues came to stillness, sitting near to door and used their senses to detect what might be going on in the dungeon. Zevran had noted no guards within the area that housed the cells, but they would hardly be necessary inside a hole which had only one exit. The guards would be outside the door.

Zevran began removing more items from his armour and Juilden looked on with an amused expression. "Obviously, the only way to capture you properly is to strip you naked."

Zevran chuckled. "I am not entirely defenseless without my clothes, Juilden. Some have been known to find me more devastating when naked." He picked at the wire secured beneath his belt. He handed the belt itself to Juilden. "If my pants fall down, take advantage of the distraction." He winked and Juilden smiled.

Zevran considered his brother a moment longer. "We will no doubt leave a trail of bodies on our way out. There will be no turning back – for you, or for me."

Juilden nodded softly. "As we have both reminded each other more than once, we are both dead men anyway. Tell me Zevran, what cause drove you here? Are you really so loyal to this king?"

Zevran let out an impatient sigh. He did not really want to discuss his loyalties at this point, but considering what Juilden had divulged, the question was fair. "I am, yes." He raised a hand to forestall Juilden's next question. "I am not in service to Alistair. I am merely doing a favour, for a friend."

Juilden raised his brows, but did not question further or jest. The matter closed.

So armed with nothing but a string of wire, a belt and their wits the two rogues slipped from their cell and melted into the shadows. They zigzagged down the narrow hallway, avoiding the spill of light from each torch, until they reached the door. Zevran placed his ear to the wood and listened. Silence, but not an empty silence, he could hear breathing. He counted. After a minute or two he held up two fingers and Juilden nodded. The door opened inward, which suited Zevran just fine. He pressed himself against one wall and Juilden slipped out the tools and set to work on the lock. He took his time, working deftly and silently and several minutes passed before he pocketed the tools once more. Juilden took a deep breath, pulled on the door and the stepped back into shadow.

The door creaked open slowly, not more than three inches, and nothing happened. Zevran waited silently and Juilden did the same. It became a game, four rogues waiting in the shadows to see who would move first. Half an hour crept past and Zevran had to shift slightly to ease cramping muscles. Finally he heard a scuff from outside the door. A voice sounded through the dimness. "Why is the door open?"

They had to move now! That a third person had arrived outside the door presented a problem, but if the door closed again, their chance was gone. Zevran leapt through the doorway, and kicked at the first man he saw. His booted foot landed right where he aimed it, below the belt, and the elf he'd struck collapsed to the floor with a soft 'Oof'. Zevran did not wait to see this, he whirled, an elbow aimed at about the level of his own solar plexus, and prayed his next target was another elf of similar statue. It was. He drove the point of his elbow just below the man's chest, driving air from his lungs and as he doubled over, Zevran looped the wire about his throat, crossed his hands and pulled, hard. The gagging noises from behind him indicated Juilden had done much the same. He could hear the third elf scuffling about on the floor, attempting to regain his feet and he pulled tighter against his makeshift garrote, sealing the airway and mortally bruising the throat.

The third elf made it to his feet and swung his head between Zevran and Juilden, picking his target. Zevran invited him with a quick lift of his chin and the elf drew his blades and charged. Leaning on his current victim, whose struggles were weakening, Zevran shot his leg out in a side kick, his heel catching the rushing elf in the gut. Not a debilitating blow, but enough to distract. The elf beneath him finally sank to the ground, taking Zevran with him. Zevran pulled the daggers from the dead elf's back and whirled to meet the next charge, the resulting clash of steel echoing of the low ceiling. Not good. A sound such as that would bring more guards. This fight needed to be done with quickly. Juilden had similarly relieved his victim of weapons and with a turn and thrust, lodged both of them hilt deep into that third elf's back. The elf dropped to his knees, blood spilling from his lips and died.

Clutching their new weapons, Zevran and Juilden stepped over the three bodies. Zevran took a moment to retrieve his belt and they paused at the heavy wooden door that led to the house. Zevran looked at Juilden and his brother shook his head once and then jerked it to the left, indicating they continue down into the aqueducts. Zevran moved close to Juilden and whispered against his ear, "My weapons, I am quite fond of my dagger."

Juilden looked at him a moment, his expression grim, and then nodded once, a short jerk. Sheathing his daggers, he took out the thieves' tools and worked the lock. This door opened outward and so they rushed it, pushing through with draggers pointed forward. The hallway was empty. Juilden looked at Zevran and his expression clearly indicated that this did not sit well with the brethren. He looked meaningfully down the hallway and the pair of them slipped into shadow and made their way toward the armory.

They passed no guards, no brethren, nobody at all, and slipped unnoticed inside the room.

"Brother, something is going on, it should not be so deserted here. It is this war I started, I am sure of it. That battle we left in the aqueducts must have continued, or spilled into another venue."

Zevran nodded. "It is to our advantage then." He pulled out his borrowed daggers and tossed them aside as he searched the room for his own weapons. He found both of his blades laid out on a table at the back of the room. They had been cleaned and oiled. Smiling at them, feeling as though he greeted old friends, Zevran picked them up and hefted them in his hands. Juilden popped his head over his shoulder and whistled softly.

"That is indeed a fine dagger, Zevran, and worth the detour. Such a weapon came from this Ferelden?"

"Not originally, no. I am not entirely sure of the origin. The dagger was a gift, its former owner a rogue of much repute."

"Gifted from his dead body, no doubt." Juilden's eyes sparkled with humour.

Zevran scowled. "Not a spoil of victory, not this time. A true gift."

Juilden looked at him oddly before nodding and moving away to select some better weapons for himself.

Zevran admired Duncan's dagger once more and slipped it into the sheath at his back. He then perused the armory for other items of interest. The pair of them pocketed some potions, a couple flasks of poison and a pair of fiery bombs. Zevran grinned at the last. Things might get chaotic, and that would be good, he had moped around enough these past few hours.

They poisoned their weapons before they left the armory and had a chance to use them just outside the door. Two brethren about to enter the armory were met with pointed steel, their throats cut, their voices silenced.

"If this battle is in the aqueducts, let us take our chances on the streets."

Juilden nodded briefly and indicated the deeper recesses of the house. "We will try the back entrance."

They met no one on the way to the rear of the building and slipped unnoticed into the cobblestoned courtyard beyond. Two brethren stood guard at the rear gate and Zevran and Juilden approached one each, silently. Zevran's target whirled just before he struck, a blade whispering across Zevran's midsection. The leather of his armour deflected the blow, but it left him off balance. A second dagger came in a wide sweep toward his neck and Zevran put up an arm to block, wincing as the hilt met his wrist with a crack. He stabbed with his sword, a deep forward thrust that he leaned into, intending the freshly honed point to drive through leather and flesh beneath. He jerked his sword back in time to deflect another sweep of the rogue's first dagger, but only just. The man in front him went mad with pain and threw himself at Zevran in fury. Zevran chose to simply dodge and parry rather than press and waited for his opponent to bleed out. After the man slumped to the cobblestones, Zevran massaged his sore wrist and turned to Juilden. His brother bled from a several wounds, but his opponent had also been put down.

"The more skilled Brethren guard the gates it seems," Zevran commented.

Juilden nodded and flicked blood from his hands. "Let us go before we are noticed."

Producing the tools one more time, Juilden unlocked the gate and they slipped into the alleyway. The night was no longer dark and the light had turned grey about them, shadows lifting and lengthening in turns as dawn crept over the city. As Zevran contemplated the rising sun, the first pink fingers of light stretching across the eastern sky he felt a deep weariness settle into his bones. "I need somewhere to rest, something to eat," he glanced down at his scuffed and filthy leathers, "and a bath. We will return to the docks, Cristina has some very private accommodations."

They ran lightly through the streets, hugging the shadows, avoiding all people. Now and again they would cross a grate or gutter and the faint sounds of the battle that continued to rage beneath the city would filter toward them. Zevran shook his head; it would be a wonder if any assassins were left in Antiva by the time the sun rose fully in the sky. As they duck and wove through the shadows Zevran mused on what Juilden had told him. A war between two guilds was no light matter, but these things did happen, and regularly. Some men relished such battles as they presented many opportunities for advancement within the guild and a reshuffling of loyalties and priorities. Some Crows would be Brethren by the end of this day and perhaps a few would take advantage of the situation just as he and Juilden did, and drift away from the shadows entirely.

They reached Cristina's without incident and scaled the outer wall at the back of the building. They slipped back through that same open window, across the balcony and down the stairs. Cristina herself sat on the bottom step and she turned as they descended, her face showing no surprise whatsoever. Zevran stopped short. He studied her features, trying to read her expression. Was she a friend, or foe?

She tilted her head lightly to one side and said, "You took a little longer than I expected, Zevran, but I did not worry for you. Come, your room is ready."

Cristina led them to her private apartments. Juilden raised a brow as they entered the room and Zevran gave him a light shrug. Food had been laid out and water for washing, cool now, but clean, stood in a basin. Zevran washed first. Juilden ate. They swapped positions. After cleaning up, Juilden nodded his head toward the bedroom. "I slept in the cell, you rest first, I'll watch."

Zevran nodded in agreement. He did not know whether to trust Juilden entirely, but could not conceive of any other motives his brother might hide at this point. He stepped into the bedroom and Cristina followed. Zevran threw himself on the bed with a gusty sigh of relief. To be lying flat, off his feet, his sore wrist no longer hanging, but supported, was bliss. He felt the bed shift and turned his head to see Cristina sitting beside him. "Thank you, Cristina. What do you know?"

"Enough to know you would be back and probably with that 'friend' of yours. Who is he?"

"A friend, let us leave it at that, hm?"

Cristina nodded thoughtfully. "Of course. Why did you come back to Antiva, Zevran? Do not mistake me, I am happy to see you, but not like this. You seemed a different man last night, and now you look like a Crow again."

Zevran raised a brow. "Oh, and what does a Crow look like?"

"He has death in his eyes, and it follows him, a scent he cannot shake."

"That is just the dried blood, my dear, it washes away."

Cristina chuckled and patted his hand. "I can see you are tired, Zevran, I will bother you no further," she paused before adding, "Unless you would like to be bothered?"

Zevran smiled warmly at her. "Ah, Cristina, much as I have missed your… bothering… you are right, I am tired. Perhaps another time."

She nodded and pecked his cheek. "Sleep well."

Zevran closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift. They settled on Kayley, the elven Grey Warden he had been involved with, on and off, for the past year and a half. Normally he would smile to himself as he pictured her face and her other charms, but now he frowned. Now she represented a weakness, softness, and Zevran was forced to acknowledge that perhaps he cared for her more than he'd thought. He tried to tuck thoughts of her away, but she persisted in being there and he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

When Juilden woke him, the sun had reached its zenith. They exchanged no words, none really being necessary at this changing of the guard. Juilden flopped down and Zevran left the bedroom and took the chair by the door. He could feel the heat of Juilden's body still on it and he leaned back, relaxing his posture and rested further as he kept watch.

Juilden emerged from the bedroom about three hours later and Cristina appeared shortly after that with more food.

She set down her tray and looked from one to the other. "Well boys, what are your plans? No one came calling for you, but that will not last. The battle in the aqueducts is over, both sides have sustained heavy losses." She glanced at Zevran. "Remehe is dead."

The ranks of the Crows would shuffle once more. Zevran felt a twinge at this. Three years ago the news would have excited him. He may have been in Sebastian's boots, ready to step into the coveted role as second to the guild master. Now he found himself more impassive. But that did not stop his mind from recognizing the opportunities.

He turned to Juilden. "Do you know where Anora Mac Tir is?"

Juilden nodded.

"I think it is time to pay her a visit."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Zevran and Juilden passed the rest of the afternoon in a quiet game of strategy and chance, wagering the flasks, potions and bombs they had collected the evening before. Zevran ended up with all the bombs and Juilden ended up with all the poisons. They were both well satisfied with the outcome.

Cristina dropped in from time to time and bearing food and drinks and both men greeted her warmly.

Juilden looked up after their last game. "Will you take her to your bed tonight?"

"If we live through our visit with Anora, I might have cause to celebrate, no?"

Juilden chuckled. "Should you not look more eager?"

Zevran grinned. "Perhaps I should! Cristina has many worthy attributes."

As night deepened the time to leave crept upon them and Zevran and Juilden pocketed their supplies, checked their weapons and made ready to move. Cristina's private apartment was located above the kitchen and at the back of the inn. Zevran indicated the balcony doors. "Let us be away."

The slipped outside onto the balcony and Zevran took a moment to savor the smells coming up from the kitchen below. He would miss smells such as these when he returned to Ferelden. They climbed down the outside of the building, dropped noiselessly onto the cobblestones and melted into the shadows of the kitchen courtyard.

As they left the courtyard a figure stepped from shadow and held out his hands, palms facing upwards.

Zevran stopped more than a body length away from the man and greeted him. "Good evening, Sebastian."

"It is good to see you are still alive, Zevran."

Zevran raised a brow, aware the gesture may go unnoticed in the dark alleyway. "Oh?"

"Have you heard that Remehe is dead?"

Zevran felt Juilden shifting behind him and his back crawled, but he did not turn his head. He spoke directly to Sebastian. "I have. Are you here to exchange rumor and gossip, Sebastian, or have you another purpose in mind?"

"I am here with a message. The guild master would speak with you."

Zevran made a dismissive gesture. "Well I am a little busy right now. Perhaps I can fit him in tomorrow sometime, yes?"

Sebastian drew in a sharp breath.

"Sebastian, I am no longer a Crow, I am not subject to the master's whims."

"You will always be a Crow, Zevran." Sebastian lifted his chin to indicate Juilden standing further back. "Even your brother is still a Crow, albeit a dead one."

"Are we done here, or do you have more messages?"

Sebastian looked annoyed. "This war has culled both organizations. The master wishes to make you an offer. I would consider it, Zevran, for your sake and for the life of your brother." Sebastian lowered his voice. "Word is he plans to offer you Remehe's place. Why, for the life of me, I cannot understand. Perhaps the simple fact you are still alive proves your worth."

It was Zevran's turn to draw in a sharp breath. A position as second in the Crows? The very idea of it made his head spin for a moment. He tilted his head. "That is a pretty lure you dangle there, Sebastian. Do you really expect it to work?"

Sebastian laughed. "I told him you'd say that and he agreed that you would. But here I am anyway, delivering the message. Go get yourself killed tonight, Zevran, see if I care. With you out of the way, perhaps I might be looking at the position myself."

Sebastian turned away from him, walked a few steps and then looked back. "You do know that if you refuse his invitation you can never come back to Antiva? You or your brother."

Zevran nodded. He did not intend it as a dismissive gesture and it did not seem to be taken as one. Sebastian returned the nod and melted into the shadows.

Zevran turned to Juilden. Juilden shrugged. "What say you?"

Zevran let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. He didn't want to think about this now, let alone talk about it, but they had to, this potentially meant both their lives. He looked at his brother and said, "I see two choices, Juilden, what do you see?"

Juilden grunted. "We lead the Crows or we leave Antiva forever."

Zevran smiled and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "We share blood after all brother! I have to say, I am torn. It is not every day an opportunity like this falls into your lap. With me as second and you at my side, who knows, Juilden, we could rule this city by the end of the year."

"That we could, Zevran. The question is: do you want to?"

It was tempting, so tempting. It represented everything a younger Zevran could have wanted. A younger Zevran - that was the sticking point in his mind. His life had followed a radically different path than what he had planned. He thought of his life in Ferelden, what he had so recently left behind and drew in a deep breath. He felt a pull. Interestingly, the face that first came to mind was Leliana's. They had much in common and they had often talked about what it was like to put their pasts behind them. Though they had never shared the gritty details, they had seen it in one another's eyes. Yet she was happy, blissfully so, she radiated with it. Zevran often envied her sense of peace and he knew it was not entirely due to her faith in the Maker; it was more internal than that. He shook his head and looked up to find Juilden looking at him with a sympathetic expression.

Zevran made possibly the most honest response of his entire life. "I truly don't know."

Shaking himself out, he regrouped. "I am here on a job, Juilden. I have to do that first. I gave my word to an honorable man, two honorable men. I will see this through and then," he shrugged, "who knows. Let us see what tomorrow holds."

Juilden nodded firmly. "A sound plan."

Anora Mac Tir enjoyed the hospitality of Baron Eresan, who maintained a city residence in the palace district. On foot it would take them about an hour to traverse the city toward the palace. The two rogues slipped from shadow to shadow, not quite running but moving faster than a walk. They were perhaps halfway when Juilden stopped and grabbed at Zevran's arm. He jerked his head upwards and the pair of them immediately looked for a way to scale the next building, pulling themselves up a drainpipe and swinging over a balcony. Zevran jumped for the gutter and soundlessly pulled himself up onto the slate tile. Juilden followed. They lay flat and barely breathed.

An untrained ear would not have heard the feet that passed below them. The residents of the house they lay upon would have no idea that between ten and twelve assassins had slipped past their walls. Juilden and Zevran heard them and they stayed still for half an hour afterwards as a precaution.

The traveled the rooftops for a while after that, dropping back down to the ground only when the streets widened into avenues and they could no longer leap the gaps between gutters.

Baron Eresan's residence was an imposing three story structure surrounded by a high stone wall and formal gardens. Zevran and Juilden slipped into the shadow of the wall and moved around it looking for a way in. One section of the wall seemed rough enough to provide hand and foot holds and the two rogues scaled the wall and dropped silently into the gardens below. They crept toward the house and once again looked for a way in. Zevran absently rubbed at his hands. He'd not had to do this much climbing in Ferelden. If he could chuckle silently at that thought, he would. And so once again they climbed, swinging from stone to railing to pipe until they reached the third story of the house. Zevran liked to start at the top and work his way down.

Juilden produced his thieves' tools and within seconds they had gained entrance to the house. Zevran had not expected to get this far, this easily. An uneasy feeling swirled in his gut. The house sat too quiet, too still. Zevran glanced and Juilden and if such words could be transferred by thought alone, that is what he did. Juilden nodded, he understood.

The room they entered appeared to be unused. The furnishings were covered by drop cloths and the walls were bare. They crept to the door and listened. Zevran tried the handle and it turned easily in his hand. The hallway stood silent and dark and Zevran could sense no presence out there. In fact it felt as if the entire third floor of the house was deserted.

Zevran and Juilden exercised proper caution, however, and crept slowly to the staircase. They descended to the second level and began checking doors and rooms. The third room they checked was occupied and closer inspection revealed an elderly man in the bed and the two assassins carefully left the room and continued down the hallway.

They found Anora in the last bedroom, a large suite situated at the corner of the building. Ironically, they had used her balcony to ascend to the roof.

Juilden had selected a special poison for this situation and he applied it silently to their daggers now. Zevran nodded over his prepared blade and stepped to the bed, Juilden stepped to the other side. Anora lay with her head turned sideways, her neck exposed. Zevran touched his blade below her ear, the edge so keen she might not have even felt it. It was only a small wound, a single drop of blood, enough to ensure the poison entered her body. Zevran sat on the bed and Juilden hovered on the other side.

As the mattress shifted slightly beneath is weight, Anora opened her eyes. She saw Zevran immediately and gasped. "You!"

Zevran smiled down at her. "Am I not who you were expecting?"

Anora blinked a few times and Zevran could see her throat working. The poison would be making it difficult for her to swallow. She tried to raise her arms and flopped about a bit in panic as she realised her body did not respond properly.

"If you remain calm, the poison will move more slowly." Juilden had selected the very same poison that had been used on Aedan when Leliana had been kidnapped soon after the Blight. When used precisely, it rendered the victim paralyzed, but conscious for a time. Excessive excitement would stop the heart. Aedan had barely survived it, in part due to his constitution and in part due to careful dosage. Zevran prayed Juilden had calculated as well.

Anora began to draw deep, measured breaths. Zevran took the time to study the exiled queen. She looked well, considering. Obviously she had enjoyed the hospitality of Baron Eresan and had wanted for little during her exile. Her hair retained a luster and her skin flushed with health. The colour in her cheeks heightened a moment only to slowly drain away as her body succumbed to the poison.

After a few moments she spoke again. "So, Alistair finally found a use for his pet assassin. Is his warden guarding his back while you do his dirty work?"

"You are still bitter, I see."

"I will be forever bitter! The bastard killed my father and stole my throne." Her voice rasped softly, but Zevran could hear the venom in her tone.

"Actually, 'his warden' killed your father." Zevran corrected. "But I did not come all this way reminisce. I'm much rather talk about who paid for your Brethren assassins."

But Anora was not yet ready to be directed. "I would rather talk about how Aedan Cousland survived slaying the archdemon. I'm not sure that matter was ever put to rest, was it? The only person to properly question the Hero of Ferelden lies dead." Anora referred to Damien, the former Warden Commander of Orlais, who was indeed dead. Aedan had not meant to kill the Orlesian, it had been unavoidable at the time. Damien had been proved a traitor to the order, however, and peaceful relations continued to exist between the Wardens of both nations.

"Perhaps you have sent your assassins after the wrong man then?" Zevran raised a brow. "Or perhaps your patron is more interested in Alistair? What is your agenda, Anora?"

Anora cackled, it might have been a laugh had she not had to struggle against the poison. "My 'patron' as you put it is more interested in you, Zevran. You will have to put your questions to him. Removing Alistair would only have been my first step. Do you think me unintelligent enough not to realize the Landsmeet would likely crown The Hero of Ferelden in his stead? Aedan is next. This was promised to me and you have made it come true."

Zevran had two reactions to this. The first was laughter and he indulged himself with a quiet chuckle. The thought of the Landsmeet trying to crown Aedan tickled him greatly. The companions had had a hard enough time convincing Alistair to take the throne and he was fairly certain Aedan would rather walk the Deep Roads for eternity than take Alistair's place. His second reaction consisted of a mixture of fear and curiosity. Curiosity won out, but he decided to explain his chuckle first.

"You know, Anora, the man you despise so much is the only reason you are alive. Aedan is the one that stayed Alistair's hand and begged clemency on your behalf. I have to say, sending assassins after Alistair has done little to help your cause, however." Schooling his features into a more serious expression he continued. "I suspect delivering me to your patron will seal Aedan's fate. Who paid for your assassins Anora? This does not need to end badly for you." Zevran indicated Juilden who held out a vial. "That is your antidote."

Anora's breaths were shorter now and her skin had paled considerably. Zevran knew she could barely blink anymore as the poison swept through her body. That she had lasted this long indeed testified to the coldness in her heart.

"I am not a fool, Zevran. That is not an antidote. Alistair may be a weak man, but you are not. Their fate is up to you now." She tried to laugh but began to choke and Zevran felt the first tickle of fear that she might die before he found out the identity of her patron. He leaned forward and adjusted the angle of her head a little, clearing her airway.

"Your patron, Anora, and I will grant you a swift death. I will not let the poison suffocate you."

Fear showed in her eyes then. "It is the Baron, Zevran, but you are too late, he knows you are here." Her voice wheezed now and her eyes had begun to bulge. She rasped out, "You can't save your friends now. They are as good as dead."

Zevran stiffened. If what she said was true, more assassins had already been dispatched to Ferelden and this time they would be after both Alistair and Aedan. This job had become not only more complicated, but now a race against time.

Anora's body began to spasm and her lips started to take on a bluish tinge. Her eyes pleaded with him and Zevran saw no reason not to comply. He did not particularly enjoy watching someone suffer; a clean death was always preferable. He stood, unsheathed his sword and without hesitation swept the blade down across her neck, neatly severing her head. One of the side effects of this particular poison was that the blood crystallized, causing a shutdown of the body's organs, one by one. Zevran did not know whether this caused the paralysis or not, he did not question the effectiveness of the tools at his disposal. The beauty of this side effect became immediately apparent, however, as no blood ejected from the wound. Anora's head simply subsided from her body, rolling one turn across the pillow. The crystallized blood would also preserve it for a time, making transportation of the … trophy… more convenient.

Juilden stepped forward and removed a pillow case from the bed and swept the head into it. Zevran looked on quietly as he processed what he had learned from Anora. He took a deep breath and held it. It had become abundantly obvious that there were two agendas here. One to lure him to Antiva and another to remove both Alistair and Aedan from power. It would be up to him to get to the bottom of both matters. As he whistled out his held breath Juilden looked up. "One down, one to go?"

Zevran chuckled. "Seems we might collect two heads tonight, brother. Let us go find this Baron."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Zevran looked across Anora's dead body at his brother. He nodded toward the balcony. "They'll be waiting for me, us, downstairs. Why don't you surprise them?"

Juilden thought for a moment and then nodded in return. "I will be at your back, Zevran."

Juilden picked up the pillowcase and headed for the glass doors and Zevran sheathed his weapons and turned toward the hallway door. He glanced back over his shoulder once to watch Juilden step out onto the balcony and melt into the night before turning the handle and stepping into the hall. As before, the hallway was deserted, still and dark. Zevran pondered the elderly man they had seen in one of the rooms and wondered if that had maybe been the baron. Knowing the location of that room already he proceeded to check the rest of the rooms on the second level of the house first, and confirmed that they were all empty. There was altogether too much emptiness in this house and it bothered him. He decided to go downstairs before investigating the other occupied bedroom.

There were two staircases, one for the servants and one for the family. Zevran decided to take the main, formal staircase, he tired of the hunt and the chase. He'd reached the halfway point when a voice greeted him from below.

"Ah, Zevran, good of you to join us at last."

The man standing in the grand foyer looked vaguely familiar and Zevran felt a flutter of something, not fear, stir in his gut. A memory, perhaps. Zevran did not check his stride and kept his expression neutral as he continued his descent. As he placed his first foot on the marbled floor of the foyer, three more figures melted from the shadows behind this man. Assassins, but unknown to Zevran. The four rogues exchanged professional looks and subtly maneuvered into easy postures, Zevran before the man, the three assassins behind. Zevran wondered if he was outmatched and found himself fervently praying Juilden still lurked outside the building somewhere, or perhaps already inside, somewhere… helpful.

"I am Baron Eresan, but you know that, yes? You accepted my invitation, after all."

"Indeed I did." Zevran dipped his head in an approximation of a bow, his eyes never leaving the Baron's face.

"I trust your business with Anora is concluded?" The baron raised a single manicured brow.

"I must thank you for arranging a private meeting, Baron. Not everyone has your… discretion." Zevran allowed his eyes to flick from one assassin to another before adding, "I don't suppose we might enjoy the same privacy?"

The Baron chuckled. "I think not." He gestured to the side. "Come, let us retire to my den and discuss business."

Zevran actually felt somewhat relaxed as he widely skirted the group of men and preceded them into the indicated room. The chase had ended and he hadn't had to climb anything else yet. He had no doubt he would have to draw his blades before the end of this meeting, but for the time being he cleared his mind and sharpened his wit for a round of mental sparring.

Zevran crossed the small room and selected a simple upholstered chair that sat nearest the tall windows. He perched on the edge of the seat and watched as the baron settled himself on the couch with his three men arrayed behind him.

"I would offer refreshment if I thought it likely you would accept."

"The sentiment is appreciated, of course." Zevran replied civilly. "I would not wish to appear rude, but perhaps we could dispense with the small talk and get to this 'business' you wish to discuss?"

"You really do not know why I had you brought to Antiva, do you?"

Zevran spread his hands. "I can think of several reasons, I know which one I would prefer."

The baron raised that slender brow again. He was an effeminate looking man, slight and well groomed. He looked to be in his fifties, but fit, a man who looked after his body and his mind. "Please, for my amusement, would you enlighten me?"

"You are a gracious host, yes? Perhaps you have invited me here to laud my prowess as an assassin and wish to give me a very special assignment!" Zevran smiled at his joke and the baron nodded appreciatively before slapping his hands together and rubbing them against one another.

"A fair jest. Tell me, Zevran, do you remember an assignment undertaken shortly before you left Antiva to rub shoulders with the Ferelden nobility?"

Zevran brought to mind his last few assignations, surprised that the details of one or two remained sketchy. He found it easier to recollect his last three years in Ferelden, and the more pleasant memories there. He tilted his head. "I juggled many contracts before I left Antiva. To which to you refer?"

"That little business involving a certain prince."

Zevran's mind immediately snapped to the assignment. He had worked with Taliesin on that particular job. The contract had specified that they take the life of one of the younger princes who had proven to be rather too ambitious. Unusually, they were to arrange it to look like an accident and fortune had smiled upon them. They had stumbled upon the prince in a 'private' moment with a woman who was not his wife. They had killed both of them, arranging the evidence to look like a lovers' quarrel and had been about to leave when the prince's wife entered the bed chamber. She had taken in the situation and fainted dead away.

Zevran did not like collateral damage, he thought it a messy business. As he contemplated what had taken place next he remembered a conversation he'd had with Aedan where the warrior had asked him about killing an innocent. He had thought of the prince's wife as he had made his answer and he thought of her now. He had hesitated. That hesitation had bothered him at the time and would continue to bother him forever afterwards. Perhaps he'd never been a proper and fit assassin? He'd hesitated and she'd come around just before he ran his blade down her wrists in cuts that would approximate suicide. He'd had to listen to her pleas and watched her struggles as her lifeblood pooled about her on the floor. It hadn't been long after that he'd stood by while Taliesin killed Rinna, the first woman to capture his heart. No wonder he'd gone to Ferelden with every intention of dying.

A cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach and Zevran swallowed before he made his answer, his tension lending an odd flippancy to his words. "Ah, the contract was yours? I take it you were not pleased with the outcome. I had thought it all rather satisfactory myself."

"As did the one who ordered that contract. I, however, was less than pleased with the death of my daughter." The baron dropped all pretense of friendliness now and it seemed as if the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees.

"You have my apologies, Baron. These things do not always go as planned."

The baron made no reply but continued to stare at him coldly and for once Zevran felt compelled to fill the silence.

"Perhaps her death was not entirely necessary, but we Crows take no precautions. I took no joy in her death." Zevran wondered if his daughter had been the mistress or the princess, though he tended toward the latter.

"That you killed her… well," the baron paused and blinked a moment before his expression hardened and his eyes flashed, "But to make it look like suicide. That I cannot forgive."

Zevran made no response. What could he say?

"I hope you have enjoyed our little game, Zevran. It took quite some arranging. My one regret will be that you will not get to see your friends die. But perhaps that experience is overrated. I'm sure you have an active imagination."

That he did. The baron must refer to the extra assassins that had been dispatched to Ferelden. He should not have come here. He should have stayed at Alistair's side and protected the king from harm. Did Alistair still live? Did Aedan? Contemplating their deaths caused Zevran an unaccountable sorrow and he despised the feeling. His friendships were a weakness that could be exploited. A part of him felt ready to resign then and there, to admit defeat and meet his fate. A fitting culmination to the growing list of failures in his wake. Then he remembered his unfinished tasks, and unfulfilled promises and his spine straightened and Zevran felt a purpose and a desire to live, if not just to put this chapter of his life behind him.

"Alistair and Aedan are well equipped to take care of any additional assassins you may have sent." He tried to infer that the original five had already been taken care of.

"On a first name basis with the king are you? I am impressed. As to these additional assassins, none have been sent. Does that comfort you? The opposite thought seemed t comfort Anora somewhat. I aim to please."

"You are not a man of your word then, Baron? I am surprised!" But relieved, Zevran did not add.

The baron did not answer, he merely gestured the assassins behind him. The three of them drew their weapons and stepped around the couch. Zevran stood and drew his weapons. He would not go down without a fight. The baron stood and gave a half bow.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me, I must go attend to my father." The old man in the bed upstairs... He glanced at the assassins and added, "Try not to destroy the room entirely." He left the room as the three rogues moved toward Zevran in a circling pattern.

Zevran's dagger was still poisoned so his strategy would be to make a strike, any strike, where he could and hope that enough poison entered the wound to debilitate his opponent. He also hoped that Juilden would soon make an appearance. Zevran flexed his knees and waited for them to attack. Two came at once, from the sides while the third held back, awaiting the outcome. Sensible, really, Zevran's mind noted. There wasn't enough of him for three men to effectively engage. Smiling at his thoughts Zevran engaged, sweeping his blades in two different directions to block both men at the same time before spinning to the side and placing himself squarely in front of one of them. He could not fight two men at once.

A pair of blades crossed before him and instead of leaning back, Zevran chanced to duck below them, feeling the rush of air over his head. He swept his dagger across the exposed knee of the man before him and quickly stood again to meet the man's interested expression. Zevran laughed and lifted his blades before him in whirlwind maneuver as both men closed in before him. The room spun in a clash of steel and Zevran felt the skin part on one of his arms. It stung, pain was good, it usually meant no poison. When he faced his opponents again, only one remained standing, the other had succumbed to the poison and had collapsed. The third man stepped forward to take his place. Zevran ducked and parried both of them for a time, surprising even himself with the number of blows he managed to catch, but he could not get a hit in. He needed a plan.

Launching another flurry he took small sideways steps until he felt he had the distance required and then he broke and ran. He leapt to the top of the desk and sliced down at his attackers, trying for their heads and their necks. Blood ran freely down his arm and he could feel the grip of his sword sticking to his palm. One of the assassins got a blow in against his knee, numbing it, and Zevran moved back across the desk. He managed a low sweep at a neck and watched as another of the men fell beside the desk leaving him with a single opponent. Leaping from the desk, he stumbled a moment as his knee threatened to buckle beneath him and noticed also that his banged wrist had started to ache. The slice across his arm had stiffened and Zevran tried to shake off his injuries as he advanced upon the final assassin.

They were well matched and traded many strikes and parries before each settled into an easy stance across from one another. The assassin spoke. "More of my brothers wait outside for you. I could give you a quick death, you have proven yourself a worthy opponent."

"Now is not the time for conversation, my friend." Zevran launched himself at his opponent, striking forward before spinning back on himself and ducking low, sweeping in with his blade. He heard a grunt as the keen edge pierced the leather and uttered a hiss himself as he felt the same sting across his shoulder. Disengaging he kicked backwards and turned again to face the assassin raising his blades for a flurry. His kick had dropped the man's head and so Zevran crossed his blades and sliced over the exposed neck. The body dropped to the ground.

Standing there, panting, his ears ringing, Zevran looked over the bodies before him. He hurt, his wounds had stiffened and fatigue had started to settle into his bones. He did not relish the thought of what might wait outside. Perhaps he would visit with the baron first? Zevran wiped his blades over the back of the couch and left the room at a sprint. He took the stairs two at a time to the landing and ran down the hall to the room occupied by the elderly man. He burst through the door with no subtlety whatsoever and blinked into the darkness. The room was empty.

Whirling, he ran to Anora's room and through the open balcony doors. He would not waste any more time on this baron, that would only further distract him from his mission. For now, he wanted to find Juilden, collect Anora's head and meet with the guild master. Then, perhaps he might actually sail back to Ferelden to deliver his gift to Alistair. Zevran chuckled as he thought of the appropriateness of his wedding gift. Gruesome yes, but also fitting. The chuckle died on his lips as he dropped from the balcony and into the small group of bodies below.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Zevran drew in a breath and glanced about him into the darkness. Detecting no sound, no movement, he dropped to his knees beside the first of the three bodies and rolled it over. Fear, raw and unchecked, swirled through him as he checked each leather-clad form, hoping each time he turned over a shoulder that it would not be his brother. Juilden did not lie among them.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness Zevran saw a trail of blood leading across the flagstone path and into the garden. He stood and winced at his own various wounds and took a moment to shake the stiffness out of his limbs before following. The trail widened and Zevran's heart thudded as he rounded the carefully manicured edge of a hedge to find Juilden leaning against the outer wall, his hands clutched about his abdomen. Dropping to his knees beside his brother Zevran immediately felt about his belt for the potions and poultices they had readied for this mission. He pulled the stopper from a bottle and held it to Juilden's dark lips.

"Drink, brother."

Juilden attempted to swallow and coughed. Though the sound was horrible, Zevran took comfort in the fact his brother had produced a deep, wracking cough rather than any wet hissing sounds. It confirmed a relative soundness of body. As the potion began to take effect colour returned to Juilden's cheeks and his eyes opened. His voice rasped. "They were waiting for me."

"I know, we should have stayed together. I am sorry."

Juilden weakly waved a hand. "Either way might have been the same." His eyes sharpened then and he grabbed at Zevran's leathers. "You are here, you live!"

Zevran chuckled, a dry, humorless sound and nodded. "We could say my meeting with the Baron went well, yes?"

Juilden simply nodded in response and his eyes began to drift closed. Panic welled up within Zevran and he patted at his cheeks. "Stay with me now."

His brother's unremarkable brown eyes opened and focused once more. Zevran moved Juilden's hands away from his leathers and began to inspect and dress his wounds. The deepest had parted the leather and nicked a rib bone. It had to hurt and Zevran did what he could to numb the pain with what materials he had on hand. His own aches, bruises and cuts complained, but he ignored them as he tended his brother. Juilden's eyes fell closed again, but his chest rose and fell evenly and Zevran let him sleep as he finally tended to his own wounds. His back crawled constantly as though eyes watched them, but his senses did not detect any in the garden but themselves.

After packing away his first aid supplies and properly cleaning his weapons Zevran looked around for Anora's head. His lips stretched into a grin as he stealthily retraced his steps to the balcony when he contemplated his gruesome task. But it would not do to leave this estate without his prize. He found the pillowcase beneath a rose bush and saw that it had become stained and torn, but it would hold his trophy until he found a better receptacle.

Juilden still slept when he returned to the alcove between the hedge and the wall and after a moment, Zevran sat beside his brother and stretched out his legs. Leaning his head against the wall he allowed his eyes to drop closed. He didn't sleep, he merely meditated, letting his senses extend beyond himself and into the garden, laying in wait for any disturbance as he sought to rest and find some peace within his mind. Though enormously relieved no more assassins were on their way to Ferelden, he still worried about the remaining four. Also, there was the matter of the baron to consider. He would discover his dead assassins and know that Zevran still lived. Would the game end here, would the baron tip his hat to the superior rogue and call the contest even? Other unfinished business included the matter of Juilden's family and the proposed meeting with the guild master.

Zevran sighed softly, letting his limbs loosen and relax further. He had now been in Antiva two days and already the swift pace of life as a Crow had caught up with him. It had only been three years, and one of those had been nearly as torturous as this, though granted, the darkspawn generally fought with less skill, but the last two had been somewhat restful. Zevran had a choice to make and he reflected on the choice he had made two years ago when Aedan had asked him to stay in Ferelden, as a friend. Both of them had known it might be temporary. Aedan was not a stupid man, he'd acknowledged the danger of the Crows even then. Now Zevran saw a chance to put aside that danger once and for all.

The edges of the sky had started to grey with the approaching dawn when Juilden stirred and Zevran opened his eyes. "Brother, are you well?"

Juilden squinted into the murky light and nodded. "I will live. What is our next move?"

"As I see it we have two choices this morning, excluding the needs for food and rest." Zevran smiled and he saw Juilden's countenance lighten in return. Working with a partner again revitalized Zevran, it felt good to discuss a plan of action rather than take sole responsibility for it. Zevran enumerated their choices. "One, we check on your family and if possible, secure them. Two, we take our meeting with the Crows. What say you, brother?"

Juilden's eyes darkened at the mention of his family and his face dropped toward his lap a moment. "I have been trying not to think about them, Zevran. I almost do not want to know their fate. I have been trying to harden my heart again, but once breached, that wall is forever weak." Juilden sighed. "But thoughts of them will only torture me unless I can hold them in my arms or finally lay them to rest."

Zevran nodded quietly and sympathetically. He waited for Juilden to finish reflecting upon his words and to speak again.

"Let us take this meeting first. Then we must get you to a ship, brother. The King of Ferelden awaits your service!"

Zevran placed a hand on Juilden's shoulder. "I will see this out with you first. We will settle the matter of your family before I leave."

They nodded shortly at one another, an affirmation and agreement and Zevran rose gracefully to his feet holding out a hand t his brother. Juilden stood with remarkably little assistance; the Brethren obviously spent good coin on their potions and poultices and he looked much recovered. They both looked at the sack and Zevran reached for it first. He hefted the slight weight and then tied it to his belt. No doubt the morning would involve more climbing and he wanted his hands free. They stopped by a fountain and both drank greedily before splashing their hands and faces, working the worst of the dried blood away. They looked at one another in the brightening light and laughed softly, pointing out another smudge here and there. It would not do to be seen on the streets looking quite so… bloodied.

Climbing the wall, the rogues paused at the top and took in the vista below. Behind them the palace rose against the dawn sky, a grand structure surrounded by vast gardens. They had both had occasion to visit there, neither of them as an invited guest. Zevran's mind flicked quickly to that last assignment, the prince, his mistress and the baron's daughter. Her dying, pleading face came to mind and he blinked, shook his head and banished it. What is done is done. They dropped to the ground and slipped into the shadow of the wall. Once again they travelled in the long grey shadows of morning light, hugging walls, avoiding lampposts and taking to the roofs as necessary as they crossed town to the merchant district once more.

They slowed upon approach to the official Crow headquarters and glanced down at themselves, checking their gear and appearance and then at each other. Exchanging a curt nod they stepped to the front door and rang the bell. An elf greeted them and his expression clearly indicated they were expected and they followed him to the same sitting room as on their previous visit.

"Good morning, Zevran." Sebastian's tone held a surprising amount of friendliness and respect. Zevran raised a brow and then smiled in return. Ah, so this meeting is a mere formality and Sebastian already curries favour with the master's new second. This thought warmed him, immeasurably so. It had been a long time since anyone had accorded him that sort of respect and it unlocked something within him. Zevran glanced at Juilden and saw that his brother had taken a straighter stance, had also responded to the unspoken exchange and stood at his side.

A shadow passed the doorway and from it emerged a man, an elf. Zevran schooled his expression to one of neutrality with a hint of the respect he should show the guild master he had never met. The master was a slight man, pale, yet dark. His skin almost resembled white ash, it was so colourless, and his dark hair looked inky black against it. Pointed ears poked beneath the braids that held his long hair away from his face and he surveyed the room with cat-like eyes which looked at one moment green, the next yellow. He was not a young man, though his demeanor was youthful, and Zevran put him at roughly the same age as himself. He knew this man had led the Antivan crows for about ten years, having ascended to the position in the usual way – assassinating his predecessor.

The master crossed the room and extended a hand. "Welcome, Zevran. I thank you for accepting my invitation."

Zevran took the outstretched hand and found himself momentarily lost for words. This man had such a presence, a magnetism, it almost overwhelmed him. He felt a tingle as their fingers brushed and found his voice. "It is my pleasure, Master."

Dropping his hand the master smiled. "You may call me Seryer." Seryer turned to Juilden and repeated his gesture, holding out his hand and offering a genial greeting. "Juilden, it would be my pleasure to welcome you back into the fold."

Zevran sensed Juilden's reaction mirrored his own and the three of them stood silently regarding one another a moment before Seryer spoke over his shoulder. "Sebastian, perhaps you might assist Derik this morning. I would like to conduct a private meeting with Zevran and Juilden."

A slight flitter of annoyance crossed Sebastian's features before he bowed slightly and silently left to do his master's bidding. That he had met the master, knew his name and his face, must have appeased him enough to not take more insult at his dismissal. Though he did enjoy the position of second in the guild, he had undoubtedly risen high.

Seryer took a seat and gestured for them to do the same and Zevran sat back into the upholstered chair he had chosen. Though he had rested, his body was weary and he still felt his wounds. He sat with the guild master himself and was most likely surrounded by Crows. He would not be fighting his way out of this situation, therefore he relaxed back into the comfortable cushions and let out a small sigh of pleasure. Juilden did exactly the same.

"Rough night?" A smile played about Seryer's lips as he shifted his eyes from one to the other in appreciation of their relaxed state.

"You could say that, yes." Zevran replied. He then noticed that the pillowcase had flopped into his lap and he looked at it dumbly for a moment. Laughter bubbled up inside him. Here he sat in what might undoubtedly be the most important meeting of his life and he had a head in his lap. How appropriate, he thought. His mouth twitched and when he looked up, Seryer had raised a hand above his head in a summoning gesture. Unseeing eyes answered his call and a slight elf slipped into the room.

"Find Zevran a suitable container for his trophy would you?"

The elf nodded his head in a bow and left the room only to return a few moments later with a small wooden crate appropriately sized for a head. They had many of these in storage; severed heads were popular requests. Between them the transfer went smoothly and the elf said he would return the crate after it had been treated and sealed. Zevran nodded.

"Now, to business!" Seryer spread his arms out to either side of himself across the back of the couch and relaxed with the demeanor of a man who had not a care in the world. Zevran envied his relaxed posture, his confidence, his assured manner. This was not a man in conflict with himself.

Zevran did not want to speak first, he experienced a sudden flutter of nerves. Perhaps he'd misinterpreted the offer? Seryer continued, however.

"When you left Antiva not to return I did not expect to see you alive again, Zevran." Seryer's shoulders shrugged lightly. "This is the way of the Crow. I did not mourn you, nor would you have expected me to, no? But to see you now, after the number of assassins that have been sent after you, I am impressed!" Seryer's almond shaped eyes moved to Juilden. "I understand your brother had a great deal to do with this. Tsk, tsk, killing your brethren to save the life of your brother. Would you believe me if I said I was touched by the gesture?"

Juilden nodded and Zevran felt his head bobbing along. He did believe it, otherwise why did they both sit here now, alive? Seryer did not wait for any response, he merely continued as if they conversed like this every day.

"Despite your training, you two have retained a bond. This interests me and I have a use for it. I see strength in this bond of blood that exceeds that of simple brotherhood and I think it will serve us all well. An assassin can never really trust the man at his back, can he? But perhaps you can, Zevran, and you, Juilden."

Seryer leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. "Join me, brothers! This war has decimated both organizations, now is not a time to be weak. Let us take the Crows in a new direction, to new heights!"

Juilden spoke up then, his voice quiet and plain spoken. "You are aware that I caused this war, and yet you would reward me?"

"You yet live!" Seryer's manner sobered a little. "You are Antivan, Juilden; this is hardly the first guild war you have experienced. It happens. You actions merely tipped the scales once again. If I were dead, perhaps I would feel differently, but I am not, and so I would rather have you at my side. You, my friend, are a dangerous man."

Zevran liked Seryer, he couldn't help it. He almost felt he had stars in his eyes as he gazed at the guild leader, absorbing his words and his mannerisms. The confidence, the assurance, the vision for the future of the Crows, it enticed and excited him as nothing had for so long.

A knock at the door preceded the return of the elf with Zevran's box. Zevran nodded at him in thanks and studied the box on the floor beside his chair. It represented duty; he had to return to Ferelden. Looking at the box, he saw not Anora's head, but Alistair's face, Aedan and Leliana. He could even picture their children, the stout Riordan and the shy Luke. He felt a tug and though he wanted to deny it, it was there. He realised he loved these people in a way, they had become his family. He had even developed a fondness for Brenna, Ferelden's future queen. Last of all, he saw Kayley, her pretty elven features that contrasted so with his own. She had a delicate face and a serene and down to earth outlook on life. Her presence always soothed him and as though his refusal to think of her these past few days was being punished, he now found it hard to think of anything else. He fought his feelings, he resisted the pull, but a small voice, a combination of Aedan's and Seryer's had started to whisper at him. Perhaps his heart was not a weakness after all?

In a voice gruff with repressed emotion, Zevran gave his reply. "I have unfinished business in Ferelden."

"That you do. Here is what I propose: Finish your task, Zevran, it does not reflect well to leave a job undone. If you return to Antiva, I will take you as my second." Seryer's entire manner darkened as he continued. "If you fail to return, you will be as dead to me. You know what this means, yes?"

Zevran nodded. It meant he would never be able to return to Antiva again.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Zevran cleared his throat gently and Seryer raised a brow in his direction. Trying not to flinch beneath the master's penetrating glare he stated his second purpose. "Juilden also has a duty to discharge before he is free to join," he hesitated between saying 'you' or 'us', "the Crows."

"The matter of his family?"

Zevran echoed Juilden's quiet gasp. They shouldn't have been shocked, either of them, not really, but it still surprised to know just how much information Seryer had access to.

Juilden's voice almost cracked. "Do you have any information?"

"Only that they exist, Juilden, and that they are not where they should be, hm?" Seryer studied the former brethren a moment before continuing. "Perhaps there is something I can do on this score."

Juilden swallowed and Zevran could almost hear the lump in his brother's throat. Accepting this offer would effectively bind Juilden to Seryer and despite his love for his family, this would be a hard decision, or so Zevran felt, but Juilden immediately followed his dry swallow with, "Anything, Seryer, anything you could do would be appreciated."

Another raised hand summoned the same elven rogue and Seryer spoke almost inaudibly into his ear a moment before looking up. "I will call for a parlay." His shoulders shrugged lightly once again. "If Cerin honors it, you will have an audience with her and may ask after your family."

Zevran could not hide the shock on his face, Juilden simply looked almost pathetically grateful. Zevran reached forward and placed a hand on his brother's arm. "Juilden, you…" He had no right to talk his brother out of this move. This was Juilden's wife and child! Aedan would do the same with even less hesitation and more at stake.

Juilden turned to look at his hand and then raised his face to meet his eyes. Zevran merely nodded and removed his hand.

"Would it surprise you, Zevran, that I make this gesture as Juilden's payment for services rendered?"

Zevran turned to Seryer in surprise. "You are not at all as I expected, Seryer, I do not think anything you could do would surprise me any longer."

Seryer clapped his hands together and laughed. "You have discovered my secret then! Always keep them guessing my young rogues! Always keep them on their toes."

The way he said young caught Zevran's attention and he studied Seryer properly, discovering that he looked older than he had at first appeared. He carried more age and wisdom within his eyes than his youthful aspect accounted for, and the deep gloss of his hair might have been perhaps a bit too shiny. An application of colour over the beginnings of grey? The master obviously relied upon his cunning and perhaps had the art of glamour to subtly blur his appearance upon first meeting. This was not unheard of and would indeed be a skill someone in his position would cultivate and use. Seryer's eyes met his and Zevran flicked his glance away.

"Thank you, Seryer." Juilden's voice showed proper respect and Zevran echoed it.

They left Anora's head in the Crows' diligent care. Under instruction from Seryer, Sebastian would undertake two tasks on behalf of the brothers. The first would be to secure them passage to Ferelden the following day, courtesy of the Crows.

"Consider this your payment for services rendered." Seryer put forth in a tone that invited no further discussion.

The second task did not sit well with Sebastian, he'd been unable to hide his scowl upon receiving his instructions. He would be waiting at the docks for them at the appropriate time with the box. Zevran understood the gesture. Sebastian would learn his place in the order of things and Zevran would be officially escorted onto the ship and away from Antiva.

Further, the brothers were invited to rest, clean up and have their wounds properly tended. Zevran took advantage of the offer – looking back over the previous few days, he had no idea when such an opportunity might come again, and though he hoped to be aboard a ship to Ferelden tomorrow he knew nothing was certain until it was done.

A rested and refreshed pair of rogues left the house several hours later and Zevran gestured to Juilden to take the lead. Out of habit they slipped from shadow to shadow, taking advantage of the slanting afternoon light, but both knew it wasn't really necessary. If the leader of the Crows had sent them to visit the leader of the Brethren only a fool would intervene. The house they had escaped from two nights earlier stood only a short distance away and they reached it within twenty minutes, both them completing the journey in silence. They stopped across the street and glanced at one another, the house and then one another again. Zevran didn't have to ask what Juilden thought. His own mind screamed at him that they were fools to come back here, despite assurances of talk and deals.

Squaring their shoulders they crossed the road together with Juilden taking the lead as they nimbly ascended the three stone steps to the portico. The front door almost opened before Juilden finished knocking and they were invited into the building.

Cerin waited for them in a downstairs sitting room, an altogether more pleasantly furnished chamber than the room Zevran had awoken to on his previous visit. She rose and greeted them coolly, but cordially, and her manner made it plain only her honor kept her from having the pair of them dragged into the dungeon on sight. The war must have cost the Brethren as greatly as the Crows if she did not seek to anger Seryer.

No one sat. They all stood awkwardly in front of chairs until Cerin perched on the edge of the chair behind her, looking down as she smoothed her skirts. Zevran and Juilden copied her, also resting the barest amount of leather on the chairs behind them, their legs evenly spaced, their hands resting lightly atop their thighs. The silence continued a moment until Cerin cleared her throat in a professional manner and said, "Well, gentlemen, you called this meeting, how can I help you?"

Juilden got straight to the point. "I have come for my family."

Cerin purred in return, "Ah. And what will you give me in exchange?"

Juilden blinked and Zevran did too. "Exchange?"

"We are making a trade, yes?" Cerin arched a brow and her expression clearly read, 'You should have expected this.'

Zevran felt his shoulders slump. Whatever the price, he knew it would be too high. Juilden dropped forward from his chair, on his knees in front of Cerin. Zevran shook his head. "Juilden, no."

"Me. That is the price, am I correct?"

Cerin turned an eye upon Zevran. "You see, Zevran, I do pick the clever ones."

"No." Zevran stood. He did not reach for his weapons, but his posture clearly stated his intention.

Cerin merely looked at him without inviting or deterring and a lengthy silence ensued. Finally Cerin said, "Are you going to draw your blades or not, Zevran?"

Zevran did not know what he would do. He didn't want his brother to die, but he didn't quite like the idea of dying himself, either, which is what would happen if he drew his blades in front of Cerin. He dropped his hands and said, "Something else, Cerin. Name another price."

Cerin laughed harshly. "I am touched! Your brother betrayed you, Zevran. He killed his brethren! He killed Crows! Yet you would beg for his life?"

Zevran dropped his head and looked at Juilden, examined his brother's face. He saw a broken man again. "If I pay the price, will you give Juilden his family and let them sail to Ferelden?"

"Are you offering yourself, Zevran?"

"In a way."

"Oh? This should be interesting." Cerin looked intrigued.

"We have come here with honorable intent, Cerin. I propose we settle this the same way, as has been done for centuries. A duel. Will you fight me yourself?" Zevran allowed himself to give her an appraising look. "Or choose a champion?"

Zevran had no idea if this would work, he merely stalled for time as his mind ticked over the possible ways he could extract both himself and Juilden from this nest of Brethren and get them both on the ship to Ferelden. His brother might forgive him, in time. Cerin looked at him oddly and then she smiled, slowly, a predatory sort of smile.

"And intriguing idea, Zevran. What do you think, Juilden?"

Juilden worked his mouth, but not words came out.

"He is dumbstruck!" Cerin cackled.

Zevran lowered his brows and said quietly, "Juilden?"

Juilden got to his feet. "I will fight."

Zevran looked into his brother's eyes expecting to see the broken spirit of a man who would not last one minute in a duel and found instead determination. They stared at one another and Juilden's brown eyes deepened, darkened and Zevran almost flinched. He nodded and stepped back.

Juilden turned to Cerin. "Name your champion."

"Though it would amuse me to have you fight one another, that would hardly be fair, now would it. And not really within the rules seeing as neither of you serve me." Her eyes locked with Juilden's and her intent was clear. She no longer considered him a member of the Brethren.

"You may stand down gentlemen there is no need for your duel. Though the idea amuses me to no end, I'm not sure you'd find the reward equal to the task. I have already extracted my payment, you see. I am a wicked woman, am I not, seeking further exchange? But our banter has been such a light moment in an otherwise dull day."

Zevran shivered then, he had an inkling of what was to come but his mind refused to nudge it further and even shied away from the thought.

Cerin lifted her chin, her gesture to unseen eyes so much more subtle than Seryer's raised hand. The door opened and two brethren came in holding two bulging sacks. They stepped forward and dumped the sacks in front of her and then quietly left the room. Zevran took a step back and closed his eyes.

Juilden dropped to his knees with a cry that didn't sound human and his fingers clutched at the rope tied around the top of the largest one. Zevran quickly crouched beside him and stayed his hand.

"Juilden, don't…"

Juilden shoved his hand away and continued pulling at the rope, his face a mask of pain. Zevran honestly didn't know what to do, he didn't want to see what made these sacks bulge with odd protrusions and he didn't think Juilden's mind would stand it either. But on the other hand, perhaps he Juilden needed to know, needed to see, so that he could…no, no one needed to see this.

He pulled at Juilden's hands again and held them both tightly within his. "Juilden stop! You do not want to see, trust me brother, you do not want to see this."

Turning toward the sacks again, Juilden pulled weakly against Zevran's grip and then folded completely for a moment and Zevran thought his brother was going to collapse on the floor he leaned so heavily into his hands. Then Juilden pushed himself against Zevran's hands and launched himself to his feet with a strangled cry. He ran at Cerin with his hands outstretched.

"You *****!"

Zevran sprang to his feet and stepped up to restrain Juilden. Not because he feared for Cerin's life, but for that of his brother. "Juilden, no!"

Juilden elbowed him across the face and Zevran stumbled back as his brother threw himself at Cerin. The door to the room banged open and the two men were back and they fell on Juilden, pulling him away from the leader of the Brethren before he even touched her and bore him to the floor, pinning him there. Zevran shook his head and steadied his footing but did not move to intervene. His mind whirled. That the brethren merely held Juilden to the floor rather than outright killing him was a good sign. Zevran laughed bitterly at this thought, there was nothing good about any of this. He looked up at Cerin and noted she looked completely unfazed, her honey coloured eyes resting dispassionately on Juilden.

"Escort these Crows from my house." She flicked a glance toward the sacks. "And make sure he does not forget to take his family."

Juilden continued to struggle against the men holding him on the floor and they made no move to let him go until he quieted a little. Zevran still stood dumbly, his eyes on his brother, but barely focused. Of all the contracts he had fulfilled, of all the assassinations he had performed, nothing had ever been like this. He'd never killed a child, never, and the thought that one lay inside a sack, his eyes flicked to the smallest sack, filled him with a grief he'd never experienced before. He felt an odd curiosity over the sack, a draw to it, but shaking his head he stood his ground and waited cautiously for Juilden to calm down. It would do no good to intervene; he would comfort his brother at a better time, in a better place.

Finally Zevran crouched down and inserted himself between the two brethren to put a hand on Juilden's shoulder. Juilden looked up at him and seemed to calm for a moment. "Juilden, we need to leave."

He hated saying these words, they seemed so cold, but Zevran was at a complete loss. He just wanted to get his brother out of here, away from Cerin and a situation that would likely drive him mad. He said his name again, "Juilden."

Juilden stopped struggling and the brethren leaned back. Zevran helped him to his feet and without a backward glance at Cerin he led his brother to the door, down the hall, and out of the house. They walked down the stairs, across the street and around the corner. Zevran saw a small public garden and led Juilden into it. His brother walked stiffly, one foot in front of the other, not making a sound, his eyes staring dully ahead. When Zevran stopped Juilden stopped, turned and said, "We have to go back, I cannot leave them there."

Then he crumpled. He put his arms out and fell to his knees and made awful sobbing sounds. Zevran knelt next to him and slipped beneath Juilden's arms so that he hugged his brother. Juilden dropped his head to Zevran's shoulder and shook with tears and sorrow. Zevran had no idea how long they stayed in that garden, but the air cooled and night fell and still Juilden grieved. Zevran sat there and thought about a lot of things. None of it new, the same faces the same places, the same confusing tugs of emotion. He knew he was avoiding thinking about the decision he had to make and eventually he closed his eyes and let those thoughts come too. If he returned to Antiva and took a position at Seryer's side, he would be condoning this sort of action. This would be his lot - this web of deceit and lies and this devaluing of life, the hardening of hearts and the fulfilling of contracts. He did not doubt that Seryer would be capable of actions similar to what Cerin had done and he shivered at the thought. He had harbored ambitions to lead the Antivan Crows? He had desired to be that kind of man? He had changed, he accepted it now, and his decision would be whether or not he accepted that change.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Zevran had a surprisingly easy time getting Juilden aboard the ship to Ferelden. He had not planned to take his brother with him, but now he did not dare leave Juilden unattended or alone in Antiva. Juilden functioned, but barely. Cerin had Juilden's family delivered to them by way of the Crows. Zevran made discreet arrangements to have them buried and allowed Juilden to finally pay his respects at the freshly filled gravesides. He covered all the expenses himself, not wanting to be further beholden to Seryer.

The voyage to Ferelden proved restful and did much to ease both men. Zevran encouraged Juilden to work out with him daily and did his best not to allow his brother to brood. But every now and then he left him to his own devices knowing that sometimes a man just needs to be left alone with his thoughts.

The evening before they were due to reach Denerim found Zevran on deck pursuing an oft repeated ritual, leaning over the railing and gazing upon the approaching coastline of Ferelden as it lay within the shadows of the setting sun.

"Contemplating your future?"

Zevran turned, surprised to find Juilden on deck and in what appeared to be a conversational mood. "I do little else. What of you?"

Zevran didn't directly ask after his health, mental or physical, but waited for Juilden to supply a response as he saw fit. Juilden's eyes clouded and the now familiar mask of grief settled into the features of his face, but it had softened by the smallest amount and his brother took a deep breath before answering, "I abide."

Zevran dropped his gaze to the polished deck. When they did not spar or train together their conversations became stilted like this. It was to be expected and Zevran did not mind so much. But he did wonder what Juilden's future held also, if his brother had given it any thought, or if he allowed his mind only to be consumed by thoughts of his family and their loss.

"Have you…"

"Will you…"

They smiled at one another and shared a quiet chuckle. Juilden gestured toward him and Zevran started again. "Have you given any thought to your future?"

Juilden surprised him by nodding, briefly and decisively. "I have, brother. But what of you? I would hear your plans first. Will you return to Antiva?"

Zevran raised brow at Juilden's tone and his question. His brother seemed more peaceful today. Perhaps a week at sea had that effect, the endless days, the unchanging vista, the peaceful wind tugging gently at the sail. Suddenly he was glad he'd brought Juilden back to Ferelden with him, he felt that he'd finally done something right.

"I do not think so, Juilden, I…" and Zevran couldn't speak further on it. Every time he thought of Seryer images of Cerin, Juilden's family, the baron, the baron's daughter, Taliesin, and Rinna and his head would begin to spin. He'd not thought so hard about some of these people in years and others he never wanted to think about again. And yet, despite the fact he didn't feel he could step back into that world once more, that he'd changed too much and that the wanton disregard for life actually bordered on horrifying him, he wasn't sure he could remain in Ferelden anymore either. Because of that very same change.

He looked up and caught a familiar hollow look in his brother's eyes. It reminded him somewhat of himself.

"We will arrive in Denerim tomorrow, Juilden. I will find accommodations for you, deliver my package, and then we will talk. Decide our future." Zevran didn't know if he and Juilden would continue on together, as brothers, but an increasing part of him hoped so.

With that he turned to watch the sun finish its descent and Juilden joined him against the rail and they stood there until the night turned black and they could not see the water below.

Zevran could hear the familiar sounds of metal upon metal, the thump and whack of shields and practice dummies, the yell of men and the genial laughter of comradeship as he approached the practice yard at the side of Fort Drakon.

He'd stopped at the palace first and been directed to the fort. Though the city had seemed peaceful when they arrived, with no ominous cloud of grief hovering in the air and no proclamations that the king was dead, Zevran still derived a huge sense of relief at finding the palace bustling as usual. The guard had been tripled and though he was well known, they still detained and questioned him, asked about the contents of the box he held beneath his arm.

Leliana came to greet him and as always she wrapped her arms about him in a hug. It was a simple gesture, one she gave with little thought beyond her own desire to connect with or comfort a friend. Zevran felt himself stiffen within the fond clasp and she drew back and gave him a worried look.

"Zevran, I am so happy to see you, but you do not look happy to see me."

Though happy to see her, she made him feel uncomfortable. Leliana's presence could be at once complicated and simple. She knew what sat in the box beneath his arm, he could see it in her eyes, and she likely knew better than any other in Ferelden the swirl of uncertainty that churned his gut. She would listen if he wanted to talk, but Zevran found himself oddly reluctant to take the opening. Leliana radiated a sense of peace and he would only disturb it with his tale.

Instead he asked after their companions and their fate. "Alistair, Aedan? The assassins?" He didn't know which to ask after first, but her serene manner seemed to indicate most of the answers he sought.

She placed a hand on his arm. "They are at the Fort, Zevran. Aedan sent Runir to replace you, they are fine."

"My Lady?"

Leliana turned and stepped away to listen to the palace steward, Zevran heard them discussing something about the kitchen, the wedding banquet and disgruntled cooks. "Did you ask Brenna?" she said and the steward explained, "She said to check with you?"

Leliana turned and gave Zevran and apologetic smile. "Go to the Fort, Zevran, we can catch up later. I must…" and she waved her hand in an gesture, rolling her eyes to indicate her amusement over being summoned to the kitchens to sort out a dispute.

It was all so normal and odd at the same time. Zevran backed away with a nod and left the palace.

He paused at the gates to the practice yard and surveyed the men and women. Many of the faces were familiar as a good portion of Ferelden's wardens were in Denerim for Alistair's wedding. He watched them working out for a moment, his practiced eye noting clever moves and picking out faults, and remembered the sense of fulfillment he'd had helping not only the rogues but the warriors learn new techniques, the familiarity of working with men and women he'd come to admire and respect, and the sense that they were fighting for a true cause, not a purse. He now felt disconnected from them and his face dropped as a hollow feeling enveloped him.

Stepping through the gate Zevran moved his eyes over the clustered figures until he finally picked out Aedan and Alistair sitting on a bench. Oghren stood before them and the three men laughed together. A twinge took Zevran, a sadness he couldn't describe. They had all become so close during the Blight, he even felt some small affection for the dwarf, mostly in regards to his ability to horrify and amuse at the same time.

As if sensing his gaze Aedan looked up and caught his gaze, the smile dropping from his face as he reached over to tap Alistair on the arm. Alistair looked up, his expression warm, as always, and beckoned him forward. It was a confident and regal gesture, so far removed from the young warden he'd stopped in the road that fateful day. Zevran nodded, a short jerk of his head, and set his lips into a hard line as he stepped forward, making his way through the soldiers and wardens until he stood before the king.

Bowing his head he said formally, "Your Majesty."

Alistair's brow creased with concern and he stepped forward to lay a hand on Zevran's shoulder. He looked him up and down. "You are returned and alive, Zevran. Thank the Maker."

"I see you are alive as well, Alistair." Zevran glanced over Alistair's shoulder saw Runir leaning against the wall with a studied casualness. Runir had not been a Crow, but was well known to Zevran, they had grown up together to a certain extent. They'd been raised in the same brothel and had competed for the same pockets in the market place. Runir knew his brother. Zevran felt a cold ball form in his stomach as he wondered if Runir knew who the captured brethren had been. He met the other rogue's eyes and saw immediately that he did. Whether he had shared this news with Alistair and Aedan or not didn't seem to matter as both the king and Aedan looked at him with warmth, concern and respect. Zevran exchanged a professional nod with Runir and it was returned. They would talk later.

Silence fell then, there were too many questions that begged to be asked at once, but everyone's eyes were on the box. Zevran ignored the direction of their gaze for the moment and asked a question of his own. "The other assassins, were they caught?"

"Yes and one of them turned out to be quite talkative." Alistair answered.

Zevran nodded quietly, "That would have been Kusin. A mage, yes?" He and Juilden had discussed the other brethren that had been sent. Of all the assassins after Alistair, Kusin could have proved the most dangerous. He had been the one both of them feared might succeed.

"Yes."

"You dealt with them all I trust?" Zevran's tone made it abundantly clear what he meant by 'dealt'.

Alistair answered in the affirmative once again.

"Then this business is done with, Alistair." He handed the king the box. "Perhaps this is not the most appropriate of wedding gifts, but I think it will serve. I wouldn't share it with your new wife however."

Zevran turned and started to walk away. As if delivering the box had lifted a terrible weight from his shoulders he suddenly felt very tired. Weary to his bones, the sort of fatigue that sleep would never cure. The job was done, finished, complete. Alistair lived, Anora did not, and no more assassins were due to arrive. Yet he felt no satisfaction, only a sense of something ending.

Aedan stepped to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Zev, wait."

Zevran turned reluctantly and he knew his eyes were clouded with weariness and perhaps his sense of loss.

Aedan hesitated and Zevran could almost read the questions in his friend's face. He saw concern there too, he saw that Aedan worried for him. Thankfully Aedan decided not to pursue the matter further right now, there would be time later, perhaps after Alistair's wedding. He said, "Thank you, Zevran. Ferelden owes you a great debt of gratitude."

Zevran merely inclined his head and then something, someone, caught his eye and for the first time since he'd stepped through the gates warmth flooded him. Kayley stood behind Aedan and he found the sight of her unexpectedly stirring. He'd thought of her so little in the past three weeks, not because he didn't want to, but because he feared to. But now that he saw her face, her delicate brows creased in concern and the affection in her eyes, he felt differently. A part of him knew she was an 'issue' he needed to resolve, but another part of him also recognised that he was genuinely pleased to see her, and not just because he found her desirable. Besides his lover, she was also his friend.

Aedan turned and gestured her over before returning his attention to Zevran. "It gladdens my heart to see you returned safe, Zev. We'll talk later?"

Zevran gripped his arm. "As you wish, Aedan." Then he offered a tentative smile. "It is good to see you too."

"Commander?" Kayley stood there nervously clasping her hands.

"I'm assigning you to Zevran for the rest of the day, Warden. I don't want to see either of you until tomorrow, understand?" Aedan's face held a familiar cheeky grin, though he'd tried for mock seriousness.

Kayley flushed and grinned. "Yes, Commander."

Zevran reached out and took her hand, leading her back through the gates, around to the front of the Fort and out into the street. He had quarters at the palace, a room he actually quite liked. Though small, it was situated on a corner and so had windows facing in two directions, a vantage point he treasured. But instead of leading her to his room, he took her to the gardens nestled within the centre of the palace. If Kayley was surprised he didn't immediately take her upstairs and ravage her, she didn't let on, she walked quietly at his side, as was her way.

Many thought Kayley to be shy, and she could be, but usually her lack of words simply meant she was listening or waiting until she had just the right thing to say. Zevran found her quietness soothing. Though he enjoyed talking, very much so, and recalled fondly hours spent in conversation with all his companions, he also enjoyed Kayley's tranquility.

They walked for a time, as if they'd simply decided to take a stroll in the gardens, and then Zevran spied a bench set into an alcove of hedge and led her to it, allowing her to sit before he settled beside her.

Turning to the side he took her small hand in his again and looked down at it. He'd expected to feel awkward in her company, but he did not. He actually felt calm.

"I missed you, Kayley." The words came unbidden, they simply tumbled from his lips, but that didn't make them any less true. He didn't think he'd ever said that to someone before and he chuckled at himself. Kayley was a warden and she often went out on patrol or accompanied Aedan to Denerim and beyond. He'd had plenty of opportunities over the previous two years to miss her, and yet he'd never told her so.

Kayley smiled. "I missed you too, Zevran. But I knew you would return."

"Oh, and why is that? Am I really so honorable a man?"

Kayley's eyes widened and she regarded him with an almost stern expression. "Of course you are! The Commander holds your honor as an example to the rest of us. Surely you know this."

He did, but Kayley's presence had lightened his mood somewhat. He hadn't completely decided his future yet, but sitting here with Kayley felt more natural than he had imagined it would be. He found himself smiling at her. "So you didn't think I would return just for you?"

Kayley blushed very prettily and as he kissed her he wondered if perhaps his heart hadn't been as hard as he'd imagined it to be after all.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Zevran glanced over at Kayley's sleeping form and admired her loveliness. She inspired within in a sense of calm he'd not properly recognised until yesterday. Dawn barely tinged the sky beyond his two windows, but he'd had enough sleep. Today Alistair would be married and likely as not, his entire afternoon and evening would be consumed by the festivities. This morning he wanted to visit with and talk to his brother.

Slipping through shadow was habit and though not entirely necessary in Denerim, Zevran did it anyway, dancing from corner to street, down alleyways and even over a couple of roofs as the whim took him. He paused on the last rooftop and took in the vista below him, Denerim at dawn. Even in slumber it differed greatly from Antiva City. The smells were different; already Zevran missed the hint of spice the cooler Ferelden air seemed to lack. The city had been swept clean for the King's wedding day, however, and Zevran smiled at the pride the residents had taken in their task, painting their doors, hanging fresh window boxes and even going so far as to scrub the cobblestones.

Zevran slipped down a drain pipe and actually surprised a woman throwing open her shutters to greet the morning. He melted into shadow, leaving her gaping at the space he'd previously occupied as he chuckled and moved around the corner of the building and dropped to the ground. Strolling up to the Pearl he passed through the outer doors and into the interior and was not surprised to find the bar already held two patrons, most likely leftovers from the night before, and Sanga, the proprietor. Zevran did not know when the woman found time to sleep; she'd never not been in attendance on his varied visits.

She greeted him with, "Good morning, Zevran! You are here to visit with your friend? He has not left his room, but I have made sure his every request was met."

Zevran raised a brow. "Requests?" Was Juilden that much recovered?

"Food, bathing water, nothing I'd need to be more discreet over, however. You needn't worry on that score." She winked at him and Zevran realised she suspected Juilden was his lover. Juilden and he had stood rather close together the day before, a result their shared apprehension over his brother being an accused assassin in Ferelden.

He smiled and dipped his head. "Thank you for looking after my _brother_, Sanga."

Sanga laughed in response and gestured for him to make his way toward the guest rooms. Zevran stopped outside Juilden's door and tapped lightly. The door opened almost immediately and Juilden greeted him with a nod and a grunt before stepped back to allow him entrance.

Zevran looked around the room and saw the evidence of at least two meals, which comforted him. He'd only left Juilden alone for one night, but he'd been afraid his brother might not eat without him there to remind him of mealtimes. He moved to the couch and sat down, relaxing back, at ease in Juilden's company, and in Denerim, in a way he'd not been in Antiva.

Juilden started their conversation. "Your job is done?"

Zevran nodded. "It is done."

"What next then, brother?"

What next indeed. Zevran had thought of little else on the entire voyage home and even during the previous evening in while in the company of Kayley. He had awoken this morning encompassed by an overwhelming sense of peace and well being. Opening his eyes in his spare but bright room had felt natural, right. He'd felt at home. It had been unexpected but Zevran had greeted the feeling with relief. His decision, he thought, was made. He would stay in Ferelden. No more contracts and betrayal, no more creeping sensations between his shoulder blades. But, he still had one concern – his brother. Was there a place for Juilden in Ferelden? He had ascertained that Juilden had yet to make an actual attempt on Alistair's life by the time he'd been caught, but that didn't mean he would not have, had the situation not turned so rapidly to his advantage. He had come to Ferelden to lure Zevran back to Antiva, but he'd also come to Denerim to fulfill a contract.

"What next indeed. I think I have come to a decision, but I would hear your thoughts first. Do you wish to return to Antiva?"

Juilden's expression hardened and a quiet fury burned behind his eyes. Zevran swallowed, ready for an outpouring of rage and grief and was surprised when Juilden did neither. When he spoke his voice was cold and controlled. "My thoughts? They lay with my family, of course. I seek revenge, Zevran, and we have a way to achieve that. I can see your complacency; your face has softened even from yesterday when you left me here." He shrugged. "It is no matter, I will do this myself, as I started this war, I will finish it."

"You intend to join Seryer then? Perhaps talk him into forcing the Brethren to return to Tevinter?" It would be a logical step, a plan even Seryer might consider. Zevran rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You would be his forever, Juilden, if you were to return to Antiva." And he would miss his brother, he realised, if Juilden returned to Antiva without him.

"Not if you came with me, brother!" Juilden's eyes flashed. "You would be his second and together we could depose him, perhaps in only a few years. You and I have quite the reputation. We could turn many Crows to our side, strike when we had enough support. You could lead the Crows and together we could grind Cerin into dust. I would not let her return to Tevinter, I would see her dead and her Brethren scattered to the wind."

Juilden's plan was not without appeal. Zevran could easily imagine his life turning out that way, with the proper connections, a whisper in the correct ear, the right contracts, this could be done. It would not be easy, but some things were worth working for. Zevran shook his head suddenly. Why was he even considering this? He'd all but made up his mind to stay as he walked through this door, but now his brother once again dangled two irresistible lures in front of him: leadership and revenge.

But Antiva was a long way away now and with the distance, his desire for it had faded. He found himself shaking his head once again. "I will not be returning, Juilden, and neither should you." What would he do with his brother? Alistair and Aedan were good men, kind men; they had given him a second chance. Would they do the same for Juilden? "Stay here with me. Let us build a new life, one where we do not need to watch each other's backs or taste everything for poison. One were we fight for a cause, instead of a price. This I have done for the past three years and yes, it has changed me. I believe it has made me a better man."

"But what of my family?" Juilden's voice was full of anguish. "They are gone, Zevran, gone!"

Zevran put a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, Juilden, they are gone."

Juilden shrugged off his hand and stood up. "You should not have brought me here. If I'd known you would turn on me like this, I'd not have come."

"I am not turning on you, Juilden. I am offering you to do something different with your life, something new. I do not suggest that you forget your family, but perhaps you can honor their memory in a way that does not involve more betrayal and needless death."

Juilden had been so quiet for most of the voyage, his bitterness now hit Zevran as unexpected. But as he thought upon it, he realised that his brother had moved on from grief to anger. How could he help him take the next step, the one to acceptance and eventual peace?

"Juilden, will you give me a day?" He could not talk to Alistair or Aedan today, not as he needed to. He would not interrupt the King's wedding for this. "I will not abandon you brother, I understand your desire for revenge. I'm offering you a better way." And he fervently hoped he was… Aedan wouldn't let him down, not intentionally, of that he was sure. He'd speak to him on Juilden's behalf tomorrow.

Juilden gazed at him a moment, his eyes hard and calculating and then he nodded. He stepped forward so suddenly Zevran flinched, but his intent was not malicious. Juilden pulled him into a hug, a rough clasp that surprised him. Moving back, Juilden said, "You have been a good brother, Zevran."

Zevran nodded slowly, his voice quiet as he answered, "As have you, Juilden. I… your loss is mine. If not for me…" and he dropped his head. Juilden had lost everything in an effort to save _his_ life. Was he being selfish in his desire to stay here, in not wanting to honour Juilden's need for revenge? He looked up again and met his brother's eyes. "If I cannot secure a place for you here, I will return to Antiva with you. This I swear."

He grasped Juilden's arm in a gesture of comradeship and promise.

Zevran had not expected to enjoy Alistair's wedding quite so much as he did. Having a beautiful woman on his arm certainly helped. It was not often he saw Kayley out of her leathers, and then they usually weren't dressed at all. But Leliana had taken the young elven woman shopping for a dress and their choice was perfectly suited to Kayley's delicate looks.

He also enjoyed seeing Alistair's happiness and the reflection of it in his new wife. Aedan and Leliana always looked happy when they were together, but they looked especially radiant as they sat beside one another at the head of the table. And why not, they were sharing in perhaps the happiest event of their dear friend's life. The wardens all greeted Zevran warmly and he felt a part of them the entire evening. Instead of making him happy though, it made him sad. He could sense Aedan and Alistair watching him from time to time and he made the effort to look more relaxed, happier, but he found it hard as his mind kept returning to his conversation with Juilden and the fact that he might soon be leaving Ferelden again, forever.

When he finally met Aedan alone the next morning, his friend looked rested and well, but his eyes held new shadows. Kayley had told him what had occurred along the Northern Highway: the tainted village, the loss of Erald, and Luke's subsequent induction into the Grey Wardens, and he'd been horrified by it.

They chatted idly about the evening before for a while before one of the palace servants bustled into the small sitting room with a tray of refreshments for them. After she had left, Zevran took the opportunity to commiserate with Aedan over Luke's fate.

"Kayley told me what happened on the Northern Highway, Aedan. I am sorry things turned out as they did."

Aedan looked away a moment and when he returned his gaze, his eyes had darkened. He merely nodded and said softly, "As am I."

Zevran sensed immediately that Aedan would prefer not to talk of it further and so he pressed on. "Did you want specifics regarding my time in Antiva or did my trophy suffice?"

A half smile crooked the warrior's lips and Zevran relaxed a little. "If you have any pertinent details you feel you need to share, Zev, by all means. But if you say the matter is ended, then it is. I trust you." Aedan's smile warmed and he titled his head a little before adding, "I think we have both seen more these past three weeks than we'd liked to have." Again he hesitated, considered, and then added, "Um… if there's anything you wanted to talk about, I'd be happy to listen."

And he would be, Zevran knew that. Perhaps because he was a man of few words himself, Aedan was an exceptional listener. "There is something I'd like to talk to you about, Aedan. The assassin I took back to Antiva with me, Juilden." How to put this delicately… "He is better known to me than I first let on."

Aedan frowned. "Runir told me Juilden was your brother, is that why you look so changed?" He leaned back and cleared his throat. "I don't mean to pry, I just… I don't like to see my friends looking so lost, Zev."

Zevran saw his opening. "I have changed, but I think you will agree for the better. That is what I'd like to discuss. I'm sure you remember our first meeting?" Zevran smiled and Aedan responded with a grin of his own. "You offered me my life, and then your friendship. Two gestures I will never forget. I humbly ask you to make that same offer to my brother." He saw Aedan's eyes widen and he held up a hand.

Aedan nodded and said quietly, "I will listen."

"He has lost much, everything in fact. What he did, well, I think you'd understand his motivations, Aedan, perhaps better than any other. He did something no assassin in their right mind should." Zevran sighed and shook his head, hoping Aedan wouldn't take the next as a bad reflection on his own relationship, but he felt it might be the only way to make his friend understand his brother's plight. "He fell in love, he married and he had a child. Because of this business, they are…gone." He looked up at Aedan and asked, "He needs a new start, a place to belong again. Would you extend him the same gift as you gave me?"

Aedan considered him for only a moment before saying, "Yes."

Zevran had hoped for this answer of course, but speed with which Aedan responded stunned him. "You will speak to Alistair on his behalf?"

"I will. I assume you brought him back to Ferelden with you?"

"I did. Aedan, are you sure about this? I cannot imagine Alistair will be pleased." Zevran did not want to cause any problems between the two men who were as close as brothers.

Aedan smiled. "He'll give me that eyebrow, Zev, you know the one. But I think he'll see it as a fair exchange for Anora's head. He owes you a debt of gratitude, yes, but he'll agree because he is also your friend. This is what friends do, right? Give gifts to one another."

Zevran nodded slowly and looked up again as Aedan grasped his arm. "Thank you, Aedan."

"You're welcome, Zev."

Zevran returned to The Pearl, but he'd barely stepped through the door before Sanga handed him a note. He opened it, read it, and ran down the hall, bursting through the door to Juilden's room without knocking. The room was empty, Juilden was gone. Zevran read the note once more:

_Brother, follow your heart, stay with your friends, your Kayley and your new life. Here you are a better man. Though Ferelden is your home now, there will come a day when you will be welcomed back to Antiva. I will send word when that day comes._

* * *

Thanks to everyone that read and commented on Brothers in Arms. I realised halfway through 'Gifts' that I really wanted to include Zevran's POV, but as his plot developed in my mind, I further realised I'd like to tackle it separately. Though I always start a story with a beginning and an end in mind, and a fairly firm plot direction (incl. intentional misdirection!) this story did change a little in the writing. Originally I did intend for Zevran to return to Antiva at the end and to lead the Crows as suggested by one of the endgame epilogue cards (this is actually the one Aedan got in his play through). I also liked the idea of tying in some of his previous jobs for the Crows (the prince).

But, I didn't count on two things: Juilden and Seryer. Juilden grew on me, yes he did. He should have died after the showdown with the Baron, but I found myself quite unable to kill him, so I had to rework the rest of the story to fit. I dithered for three days over killing his family, it made me very sad, but I saw it as a necessary motivator for two reasons: One, Zevran would be deeply affected by it, and Two, Juilden would have the desire to return to Antiva and seek revenge, thereby fulfilling Zevran's intended role as leader of the Crows. I am really looking forward to further exploring Seryer's character.

So yes, there will be a sequel to this. Likely it will be a complete departure from anything I've previously written for DA because it will be all my own characters and my version of Antiva. It will be a fun project!

I hope you found my departures and conclusions satisfying and I fervently hope I did Zevran justice with this little tale. Thanks again for reading.


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